the atmosphere is scorching
the heat of your cruel intentions
spread like wildfire.
your dark
mysterious demeanor
draws me into bed.
and not straying from my
typical self
i am submissive
to the temperature.
the way it burns
leaves me begging for more.

the devil
is who you are.
malicious volition
that you circumvent
as an angel would.
which allows me
to disclose
im sleeping with the sweetest
of devils.

some say
they do not belong
to a person
to an object
to a place
or to anything.
i,
however,
belong to the world.
she
[the world]
that has taught me
who i am
who i want to be
and who i do not want to be.
i am a product
of perfect successes
and miserable failures
[for i have been built by both]
i am the difference between
mistakes made
and plain ignorance.
i belong to the world
that continuously shows me
evil and terror and hatred
and love and care and compassion.
she has raised me
to be a creation
of something taken for granted
and she is teaching me
to not follow in her footsteps.

i used to never kiss you
with my eyes closed
because you felt like a dream
and i feared you'd be gone
by the time i opened them

her walk makes me dream of
ripples in a pond
slow , gentle , liquefied motion
her arms sway
as they are the wind
that makes the water dance.

when i hear her laugh
my ears buzz with the sound
of her joy
crisp and clear,
but comforting
like the moment the sky
is full of thick white clouds
and the sun breaks through.

my hand trails the surface
of the empty spot in my bed,
aching for your chest to be beneath my touch.
my fingers clench the sheet,
making it crumple the same way your t-shirt would.
my hand floats to the pillow <your cheek>
not letting my fingertips escape the flow of movement
up the bed <your collarbone, your neck>
my thumb grazes the corner of the pillow
and i cant help but mistake it for your jaw.
gently caressing the lump of manufactured cotton,
i can see you looking down at me with those sleepy eyes
which i do so adore.
my leg finds its way around my body pillow <your leg>
and they <we>  are entangled.
imitating warmth and comfort
and making up for the what-could-have-beens,
my bedside knows only the truth of my loneliness.
christmas lights gleaming at the sight of my yearning
like smiles from sad stars.
the clock on my nightstand ticks and tocks,
reminding me of missed opportunities and wasted time.
the ceiling fan wizzes away each sigh of desperation.