It's rather unfair of you, you know,
Evoking such profound sentiments from my flighty soul as if you can just waltz into the lion's den, chair in hand, and whip at the air in the rather unlikely hopes that the lioness in me bends.
Only that I do.
It's rather unfair of you, you know,
That you can charm your way through my barriers like you have, and tell me things that rip the rest of the world away, leaving you and I on a cloud waltzing slowly through your quiet, scientific romancing
And then pull away at a moment's notice because you're the one holding the whip, and I'm left alone in a dark cave with my thoughts reverberating back at me against the cold stone, with you likely under the presumption that I miss you.
Only that I do.
I've found too severe a necessity for the moments traded in the little world we've fashioned for each other. Your voice resonates like a song from my past, a familiar tune I've forgotten the words to, and yet I am sure that I've listened to it many times before. It melts in my veins like a sickly-sweet resin, thickens my blood into honey, and heats my cheeks with an excitement I've never known.
I don't know why it is that I must love you,
Only that I do.

the night was bleak, the sky grey
the world reached out to the end of days.
the car pulls slowly up to the gates
of the graves.
a shrouded boy, a rose in hand. fire in his eyes. lit cigarette
this quiet procession meets its final steps; at the place of the deceased
a blood stained glove his battered face
lacerations running deep from neck to waist
a final bow to an old friend
who met his end
a bloodlust burnt, saddness grew
the whole world vanished from me and you
here and in the blazing slew
burning all
he woke in the hospital bed
stitched together by the grim who said
"it's not your time to be gone and dead.
rose in hand....
lest one call to a friendly face.
lost a companion in his last haste."
he set the rose down on the cold hard grave
in a last embrace
and drowned in the life he was so hurried to waste