un.*
He smells of Hydrangea picked straight from Heaven's garden.
deux.
His lips letting the most fervently beautiful sound leave his body to reach me.
trois.
His eyes, containing the same pigment of my favorite chocolate, wash over me in those places he knows I want him to be.
quarte.
He moves closer in the most angelic way, pushes my hair back, kisses me ever so gently.
cinq.
this is what love feels like I'm thinking as he puts his palms against my back and we fall into each other like the lines on the painting we saw somewhere in Pennington.
six.
Unfathomable. That love I feel when he looks at me, hungry yet delicate. This could never get tiring.
sept.
I'm pushed against this wall and lifted onto his hips. Clothing seems to melt off of our infinite bodies so that we may fit entirely. Flesh meshed together. I can't tell where mine stops and his begins.
huit.
This is a fairy tail that never ends as our breathing becomes a pattern into each others mouths. Me in. Him out. We're our own song. Every stroke a beat. Every moan a voice. Every scratch a strum. We're beautiful.
neuf.
To the bed we go - never missing a beat. We're in sync and I couldn't love him more. More. Every stroke more. I'm on a cloud, the rest of the world no longer audible. He's panting.
Dix.
I love you.
**Fin

Thoughts circle.
Blood is hot.
Can't breathe.
Find the happy place.
No.
Wind isn't audible.
Trees no longer whisper.
Where did they go.
Why did they leave?
Do you even Love me?
It's gone.
We're gone...

long gone




**j.a.

she cared about you, you know.
there was a lot you didn't see.
•☾•
she stared at walls for hours when you left.
•☽•
and she put you in her song book.
you're every lyric on 50 ******* pages.
•

Nothing can upset me more than the ground
●●●
Although, I've only touched the sky in few places
•••
The clouds tasted sweeter over the ocean
...
But you, your air, it's sweeter and I'd rather roam your skies

Well I hope you'll be happy to know that I hate you and I want absolutely nothing to do with you.
And it doesn't hurt at all that you don't want me as bad as you do her.
But it's so hard to look in your eyes and try to recite those words "I hate you" because it's untrue.
I love you entirely and I want absolutely everything to do with you.
It hurts so much that you don't want me.
And I want you to know that it's okay.
That I wont end up lying on the midnight grass on our favorite hill.
That I wont cling the picture I kept of you to my chest.
That I wont chase down fifty-four pills with a bottle of chardonnay.
And I wont think of you as the letters are too blurry to read and I feel my body float to the sky and become a new planet in the back of the galaxy.
And it wont be your fault if I call you and you find me too late and the feeling of your tears hitting my lips will be the last thing I endure.
It'll all be worth it in the end because your hands will be on my neck and my back on your lap and I'll feel like I'm dancing in this dark beautiful space.
Don't worry.

*I wont.

You're the Ballet en Pointe;
difficult yet graceful and magnificent.

You're winter; touching my roots
and removing the orange anger
hanging from the fragile tips of
my branches after autumn weather.

You're Easter; every secret I find
hidden in your life's bushes is an egg
left by that gracious holiday creature and
I'm triumphant and I love you more.

You're California; hot and fun.
Every corner. Every turn
something new to discover and
enjoy.

You're mine. Stay mine, baby.
*Forever.

You are beautiful.
Every part of you.
Even your impossible anger flourishing through those once soft sultry eyes.

I've seen silent pools of 'sorry' and 'let's forget about it's leave your tear ducts and fall onto me cheeks.
As lightweight as they are I feel them. So much more abounding with grief and true regret.

Your words had stung me before and like the boy in that movie where he kicked the nest-I was. Attacked before but now it's much worse.

The bee stings were no longer puncturing needles but silver knives in my wolverine body cutting deep in my organs, vital or not they live while my howling soul dies in unforgiving puddles of shedding fur made of crushed promises- you will never hurt me.

It's what you said and yet those wrists-tight with anger in your veins-those palms. Engulfed with the flame of the hostility you dry swallowed unwillingly along with those pink pills now coursing through your nerves.

On my bare skin those fingertips- once gently kissing my broken woman hood the same finger tips that threaded shards of broken glass together as hard as it may sound you made it happen and now threading needles turn to swords breaking thread and laying down the shear, intense, excruciating hate and I know.

I know that the holes in your heart were filled by the smell of this garden you've managed after planting in this body after others took the sunlight and poisoned the rain and drenched them with laborious despondent trickles becoming tsunamis in this heart of mine.

In this very minute I thought I was important. Like a vital *****. But how could I be so crucial to you when you made me feel so minuscule but I stay maybe not close but always.

For now let me bleed out this strenuous hate so that I can come back stronger.

Get rid of those demons you hold so dearly in your head- jealousy, being your best companion, should not be your best man at our wedding in fireflies and heartstrings of matrimony - keep me safe. Safe from your demons.

And keep me safe, then and only then, may you keep
me.

He saved her from finishing last in the race for top spot on the beauty scale by finishing last himself.
He knew about her dandelion kissed heart making wishes upon more wishes searching for those seeds blown by her everlasting, heartbreak drenched breath into the anonymous wind.
He saves her while she bleeds out dead crocodile tears not wanting to take the same tissue that could replenish her very soul that.
He held out for her for the past year and a half - no try eternity and a half.
As she wanders these halls she is broken and he wishes to restore her but the Hydrangea buss melted off her skin and flew to never land or was it the Netherlands?
She feels them both the same as he remembers.
Is her heart really gone because he tried so hard to chisel through the brick wall only to find stone after wretched stone?
Are her finger tips so soaked with sadness and pools of depression from wiping off what the others call... What do they call those clear, wet broken dreams she wipes from the corner of her eyelids?
Tears. Oh tears. Yes.
Tears so they called them and oh such a simple word for a much more gargantuan meaning.
As the ocean leaks from her eyelids colored black from the mascara she uses to hide those insecurities woven deep within the organs held together in a system to make that beautiful gentle dandelion that is the organism called HER.
As she wonders where the seeds have landed from those dandelions she blew in hopes of finding that forever romance she comes to find that lying on your chest the day you broke through the solitary confinement over what she thought of as insignificant - her heart grew out of that rigid boulder of a shell and she didn't have to wonder where the wind took those dreams because those dreams were under her head as she rested in that bed. your bodies leaked all over the love scented sheets rocking to lullabies of sweat and the aroma of rose petaled 'I love you's' .
He never stopped trying to break through that barrier she carried behind that feeble rib cage he made it his mission his priority careful because one small flick could cause an avalanche of deep red cells that will leak through wounds made by the razor blade that she'd call savior.
That she wouldn't call but scream and the only one who would hear it was he.
And so determination.
It drove him off the cliff called insanity only to be lifted into that cavern of a soul she had buried deep inside.
It was like entering heaven and now he knows what it feels like and no fantasy of a land that you visit after death kisses your lips ******* the breath out of your lungs through your throat could ever measure up to that moment that she looks in your eyes and your souls can no longer qualify in the world of words, terms, phrases and etcetera and etcetera and etcetera as plural.