this is irrational. in mathematics, the human reasoning - there will always be some sort of radical fallacy shoved into the equation. you. you sir, are what i call irrational. i can't lie when i say that i'm quite fond over how tall you stand, like a mountain. like a king. you don't rule the valleys and praries of your people, but you've found power along capalliries and veins. this box jutting irregularly in my chest is what you rule. i could construct motes and bridges and stone castle walls to keep you from getting in, but i can't deny i've always wanted to be a queen. your queen. i've never wanted so badly to rule your world. to take the throne and call you mine.

let me tell you all about driving the back roads of the south
gravel keeping tight while rubber runs at about 95
and father john misty is musing over emma dearest
there's even a town called riverside
with the prettiest tides
setting off fireworks every time i'm headed back home
do you think they do it for us?

babe. you're a ******* animal.
a warm and laughing mammal when you watch me breathe.
when we're playing out on a field of sheets,
and the window lighting hugs the edges of your face
you look like the leader of your pack.
and when you pin me down,
like a lion to it's prey,
i feel myself begin to pray.
for you to ruin me,
for me to claw and roar,
for us to become animals.
every time your lips drag across my skin
i feel i've entered the animal kingdom
and you've sat me on a throne
and you whisper sweet nothings,
tendering my assignment to position: queen.
when i feel the stars build up in my brain
and my breathing devoid of proper pace
i remember how much of an animal you are
and how badly i need you to take me down.

today i slept in my bed for the first time since you've left.
i even used your pillow.
i smothered my face along the threads, trying to contract any past scent i could try and find.
on some cream colored sheets where we found more than love,
it's not fun going at it alone.
a piece of me wishes you'd smoked a cigarette.
so even the ash fumbled into my eyes,
i could cry with you in me.
god. oh good god,
i miss waking up next to you.

there is comfort
in living in black
the devoid of color
makes life seem more meaningful
as if pain has got it's bludgening purpose

but then you came along
sprouted from the ground
petals in pastels and colors all around
and my god

i'll keep my eyes open forever
if it means the black has gone to color
and you promise me that you'll never find
any other

You could have planted daisies in my skin, the way your fingers watered the veined roots along my shoulders. Your lips tasted of lilacs, and your breath hummed restlessly like the thunder outside. The rain trickled against your car's metal frame; parking lot lights protruding in like the morning cathedral window panes. When the storm had yet to cease, you halted my eager palms, and began pointing to my skin. Conjuring up words of praise, the shadows of the rain smiled as you told them they reminded you of a cinema.

There was a bible in the trunk, but we laid ****** and unholy. Like Adam and Eve, but an apple untouched and fingers intertwined. A life without god isn't so bad when you've found heaven on Earth.

You kept me dizzy, my breath finding difficulty to circulate after you frequently grasped it away. I want you to steal me forever.

Our tender hearts wanted to misbehave just a little while longer - but I've been taught that all sacred moments must come to a close. But what they refrain to mention, is that sacred moments immortalize themselves in your brain... and baby, you're never leaving the driver seat in the ride of my mind.

most people say it's a gift to have a well working memory. that it comes in handy for exams or introductions or common knowledge or anything else, really. that a well oiled machine of a memory is a blessing, and you should use it to your advantage. i can remember names. i can remember faces. i can remember moments in time or little details about someone.