the gentle hands that wrap around my throat,
the decorative jewels of bruises,
the pale flesh that inspired poetry,
kissed by the silver blade
as i kneel in the scaffold

sometimes i miss the touch of rain on my skin,
the water pouring down on my body,
soaking me to the bone.
sometimes i miss the feeling of calmness,
the racing thoughts in my mind
drowning into a peaceful quietness.
sometimes i miss the feeling of not knowing
where my tears begin and the rain stops,
basking in the sorrows i feel.
sometimes i miss being alright,
the depths of numbness,
the emptiness staring back quietly.
sometimes i miss the sun,
sometimes i miss the loud thoughts.
sometimes i miss the nights it rained for hours.
sometimes the soft sounds luring me back to sleep.
sometimes i miss the calmness i seek.

with your sin stained touch,
unholy scriptures,
and whispered prayers
falling from your wicked tongue,
sometimes i wonder if we’re
truly of the ******,
disgraced in the eyes of the lord,
or if the lord revels in our unholiness

maybe i miss the butterflies.
maybe i miss the warmth.
maybe i miss your hands in my hair
or the moment time stands still.
maybe i miss the fragility.
maybe i miss the late night talks.
maybe i miss your lips on mine
or the moments of peaceful silence.
maybe i miss the time.
maybe i miss the what if’s
or the what could’ve beens
or maybe i miss the idea of you.

love is a double edged sword
that speaks truths and lies,
aphrodite and ares, venus and mars,
love and war go hand in hand
as does death and beauty

if you asked me the moment
icarus felt like tragedy and poetry,
i would laugh and say he knew,
that boys who love suns are already tragedy,
but seas who love boys are poetry,
because love is a double edged sword
and the moment of clarity ends all too soon.

A faint moment of serenity,
kisses that stain hands in worship,
of feathers light bliss,
using sinful touch as words,
singing praises and gospels
almost missing your wicked smile