for i am a collector, seeker of beauty
appeal drools out of the pockets of my mind
death creates an entry to preserve, why must a take
this chance for granted?
for i am a collector, i take what i see,
and reform its original refinement by nature itself
a life form is only dead if one preserves it to be, taken to a frame,
it creates a form of life on its own
unable to move, unable to gaze,
but able to be wondered and admired by others
that is life, if it sparks a mind then surely
it does so within itself

i once was asked to describe him
to explain the aspects that rendered me
feeble, restless
for i was unable to answer
i'll give you
this

his eyes,
hues pulled straight out of a sunset lulled together
to create his golden honey palette
the ones that have me trapped
in a whirlwind of mania

his structure,
created from stardust
taken from only the brightest of stars
merged together to create his heavenly form
for this sight has left me
lurking through space
yearning for
more

his voice,
constructed from
the sweet strums
of achilles' lyre
the one he played
for patroclus
that led him
into a frenzy
of love and
desire

as you do with i

teenage love is mindless
taken past the heart
before the conscious

i watched,
as the words turned to a
heap of blackness
it bled through pages
amongst hinges
along binding
staring,
i viewed something that once was
in wonder
in realization
words can easily be diminished
and be simply just
if not taken passed the mind and
heart first

color is selective
and so is love