Choices are demanding.
They either benefit both parties, either one, or neither.  A constant give and take, a prosperous economy.  Never yielding, never waiting, ever lurking, ever close.
You can't control the choices you will have to make, nor can you control the outcome.  You cannot choose your consequence, and you cannot choose your reward.
It is either meant to be, or it isn't.  It is predestined.  This was written.
You are doomed with the certainty of fate.

Torrential spirituality
Religion in the way that your lips meet my spine
You are the connection that I used to have to the moon

Milky, glazen sunshine
You are the freckles in the glass of my great grandfather's telescope

Sizzling electricity blooming from frayed power lines
You are the anxious potential energy impounding my body

I long to spend lazy hours with you.
Hours upon hours upon endless moments upon sleepless nights and sleepy mornings.
I long to breathe under your fingertips and kiss your heavy eyes closed.
I long to listen to your unconscious movement and diagram your restlessness on the dark curtains that are my eyelids; curving, jumping lines that separate moments of cognitive terror.  
I long to feel your tensions release, clothed by comfort found beneath my skin.
The strain of unconscious thought, and the simple weakness of letting go; the innocence of your defenselessness in the night.
Childlike beauty in the slack muscles that envelope the soft bones of your face

Your skin is dark like the passionate sin we commit with every glance out of the corner of our eyes, over our shoulders, directly into the sun.
Overwhelming our retinas with light, embellishing our minds with abstract, dancing spectacles.
The brilliant sphere pouring energy into our pupils can't spare us the agony of fantasies buzzing in our ears, raising our tastebuds in vain.  It can't save us from the pain of these visions, yet to be born to our flesh.  It can't keep out the wonderful darkness of four small letters.
It can't provide an escape from the in-between.

The phone rings and the pulse pounds
the walls
your head
You aren't ready to escape, but it's begging you to
You crawl across the floorboards
a horizontal ladder
You're pleading the distance between complacence and the door
you're losing
You're losing this war and it's just begun
Gain back your ground and you win back the right
to walk freely through the sprouts of hunches breaking through
the sutures of your skull
Let change

A dark night
Littered with stars and rain
   freshwater claims a sliver of consciousness
A simple word
   a lonely question
     "Why?"
You take my face into your hands
   letting your eyes close on minor chords
It's almost silent
   save for piano
     and nervous breathing
Your forehead on mine seems to speak
   directly to my thoughts
an arrow to my subconscious
An injection to my strength
   weakness in quiet trembles
lovely petals of black and grey
falling on our awestruck countenances
   augmenting the watery streaks of light
strewn sideways across your freckled skin
A hesitant thirst
   not eager to be quenched
finally satisfied
   Consent in closed eyes and soft pressure
Fingers caught lovelily in strands
   of tired hair

Come out of the rain
The lake is frozen over
   and so are your eyes
Weather like this is rare
crystalline beads of moisture
collecting on blankets of ice
You are otherworldly in the moonlight
but your limbs still struggle to bridge the gaps between what was and what we are now
From the driver's seat I can't tell if it's my words
   or your dreams
trapped beneath your collarbones
For now it doesn't matter
I want to know your ribs like the back of my hand
When you sit, almost weightless, in the passenger seat, you smell of wildflowers
I want you to paint them all over my cold skin
Welcome me into the springtime that is your legs