I look at you
The way I looked at my first snowfall:

At the first mention of “snow!”
I jumped to my feet, sprung to my toes
To an overcrowded window brightened by
The fluorescent lighting of the hallway outside my door.
And what I saw through the glass
Brought sparkling tears to my overjoyed eyes
As I realized I lived in a place
Where God creates masterpieces with his fingertips
Showering the earth with drops of happiness and love.
For what I saw through the glass
Broke down the dams behind my eyelids
And let flow waterfalls of possibility
To find the lost and hide the found
Washing away the key to the levy of evil.

But
I am passionate as Icarus
And you are perilous as the sun
And I am the snow
And you are the sun
You are my sun
And
Oh God, when will it stop hurting?

Yet still,

I look at you
The way I looked at my first snowfall.

I don’t understand the phrase
moving on

Because how do I forget
the sincerity of my smile,
when you look at me
with the same one?

And how do I fill in
the nooks and crannies
on my body, where yours
fits perfectly?

And how come the sky
hasn’t changed colors?
As long as the sky is blue,
I’ll never not be in love with you.

i used to cradle her bleach-cracked hands in mine
and decode the stardust resting within her fingerprints
     up until the day that i lost touch with the art of reading braille
     and she stopped slinging tall-tales for me to fetch
and rest the plot-twist at her feet

often in the post-script
i'd find my train of thought highjacked by the sunlight illuminating the rainbow of earth-tones ablaze
in her frizz-ridden curls
as if she'd been washing her hair with the damaged case of beer
she'd gotten for half-price at liqour depot
     she never did quit drinking
          but neither did i

at least we tried

though sometimes
in the middle of the night when nothing was alright
and we'd barely survived another fight
her face would catch my glance
cast aglow by a flood of lava-lamp light
    
     the sea of freckles resting at the crest of her cheeks
     rose lips perma-pursed in half tilt
     her resting heart-rate so high that i could almost see it
          pirouetting within her chest

it was then that i'd love her best
     amidst the ruins of who we were
     just moments before

If I had a rose for every time you've broken my heart and driven me insane

I would build you a bed of roses
                   and a pillowcase of leaves

And every night as the flowers began to wither and lose its luster

I would build you a new one
                 a bed as timeless and delicate as you

Again, my love, you've managed to break my heart

Why is it that I only find strength
when there is nothing to fight against?

Why is it that love must
come after pay day?

Why is it that I only take to writing,
once I have realised I have no time for it?

Why is it I only value living,
once I feel dead inside?

Why is it that people only look at me,
when I've given up
and walked away?

Why is it that the words come to me,
only after silence has fallen?

Why is it that I find myself dreaming,
yet can never get any sleep?

Why is it, my darling,
that when you touch me,
you feel nothing at all?