I want to be the kind of love
that doesn't knock—
but walks in when life falls apart.
The kind that doesn’t flinch
at your mess—
but pulls up a chair
and says,
“Tell me where it hurts.”
Not the firework kind—
quick and loud.
But the candle kind—
quiet,
steady,
still burning
after the room is dark.
The kind that remembers
your favorite song
even when the world forgets your name.
That holds your hand
even when you’re hard to hold.
If no one’s ever loved you like that—
then let this poem
be the first time
you feel it.

I can't read your mind.
I can see what's in your eyes,
how you look at me.

you’ll meet me where the forest kisses brine.
you’ll find me buried deep in the fertile earth,
circled endlessly by pines;
a cycle thats oh, so divine.

you’ll take my hand while maggots feast,
and you’ll watch, silent,
the parts that belonged only to you,
being devoured by a beast.

but now, i give a new future to larvae.
hope, even.
they touch what was most precious to you:
our love.
which they now cling so close,
as if it was their own true fate.

and finally,
after decades,
we meet again.

our memory will dwindle with time,
our hearts will rot,

but the maggots will always remain there—
their truth is only us.