Every time I look down
The ink on my chest burns red
The taste of the shades of pink in your lips
Grabbing my hips
In selfless descendance

I can almost feel it
Your fingertips
In soulful bliss
I beg for it

we were, we are
a hurricane
a wayward train
torrential rain
scattered, scorched, and singed terrain
but we are NOT debris,
remains

we're beautiful, and effervescent
caliginous, bold
eclipsed fluorescence
tapered in incessant lessons
and garnished in moments of
  
                                                    Heaven

n­o longer in hiding.

I’m tired of people meeting me

And falling in love with somebody


Who doesn’t exist

I’m an acquired taste
Like coffee or IPAs