I thought I knew anatomy until I took to mesmerizing
the movements of your finger tips and the curl of your lips
it was a surprise to me that everything I was sure of its meaning
measured up to nothing in my journey of analyzing
because bones are filled with marrow
but talent must support your limbs because theres no other way to explain it
and your finger prints must be hieroglyphs of the most beautiful piece of art thats taken to be written
I exhale carbon dioxide but your cadence is different
alongside common elements, intelligence is escaping from inside
I've sat to questioning the pictures my textbooks taught me
and the only sensical explanation is you're too beautiful to be contained by science alone
because you can't place an equation on a work of art
perspectives wont always let x = x
and maybe that's just it
the awareness of being aware pressed your eyes
so I studied them a bit longer, like a test I didn't want to fail
you have features that ask to be traced so they can be born to more than one place to grace the blank expressions of the earth's faces
an infinite impression of peacefulness
these aren't lines telling of hopeless love and romantic woes
Im looking to tell of one of the most interesting people I ever met
that didn't cause me to be swept from where I commonly stepped
but reminded me to be grateful for being grounded
butterflies never filled my insides
but a craving to learn everything that coincides with your latest stride

I often wonder if
that sparkle in your eye
is actually there, or merely
a figment of my rose-colored
imagination

Applying reason, she constructed logic sandcastles
that against waves of love were still hopelessly matched.

so this night, I set stars heavy on my brow

and paint my lips with ash

a courting ritual, a lady’s rite—

my warpaint is the lean of my hips,

my sword, the word of gods in my mouth.

yea, I will rule thee

like the sea of my birth

and the snows of my forests,

and you will think it is you who are king.

my warpaint is the curve of my throat,

my sword, the feather-touch of fingers.

do not think that I will hesitate

to take what is divine right.

the splendor,

the agony,

the death

is mine.