It's coming.
"It'll be okay."
Everything is going to disappear.
                    I look upwards and mentally start the countdown
                                                       10...9...8...
"Don't look at it. Look at me. You look at me."
Everything is going to end.
                                            I feel it getting closer
                                                        7...6...5...
"We'll be alright, I promise."
I'm still scared.*
                                                  It's almost near
                                                        4...3...2...
"Don't be."
                     We are crying as I leave him to get on my flight
                                                             1
               Like a nuclear bomb, the 8 am left devastation in its wake
                                           and we are torn apart.

If love was something edible
     What kind of taste would have?
Would it taste sweet, or sour?
  Bitter, or salty?
Would it be an ingredient, or the main dish
Would it be healthy, or unhealthy?
  How much would it cost?
  
If love was something audible
    What kind of sound would it have?
  Would it sound loud, or soft?
  nasal, or boxy?
  Would it be a song, or an album?
A speech, or a dialogue?
  Where would be the most likely place to hear it?

If love was something tangible**
What kind of mass would it be?
Would it feel wet, or dry?
Airy, or moist?
Would it be heavy, or light?
Painful, or pleasurable?
How useful would it be?

If love was something visible
  What color, or shape would it have?
Would it look like a rose, or a war ship?
A diamond, or a *******?
  Would it resemble the day, or the night?
A bunch of stars, or a few roaches?
If it was a person would you trust it?

If love had a smell
It would probably smell fishy.

You're a
confident
hard working
minimalist,
while I'm a glorified
mason jar filled with
butterflies and Jack Daniels.
I want nothing short of
the entire universe
written on the back
of a crumpled up receipt,
and nothing more
than your hand
half-way down my back.
With that in mind,
I is a lonely and fragile vowel,
but U is probably the
strongest most immaculate
one of the five (sometimes six).
Our hands are meant for holding,
never hitting,
and our bones, molded from
stardust, not concrete,
but our tongues are as sharp
as dull razors.
Always, always, always
be cognizant of your
surroundings
because what once was
so beautiful
will eventually slip out
from under your eyelids,
without so much as a kiss
goodbye.