Always, pleasantly, like a spring day, you come to me.
My life unravels like a flower losing its petals; bit by bit I shed my skin
I become a new self and the sun shines down brightly upon the earth
Glimmering rays of light show the way to all life has to offer
And your eyes recite poetry; somehow, your love is grander than the sea
Your skin is paler than snow but you live on the beach, where miracles grow.
The wind gently grazes the grass that prickles my toes and your smile,
It replaces the sun. It makes me feel like I am the moon. Do you shine for me?

you are so much more
morning glory Apr 17

Have you ever stared death straight on, in the eyes of the one whom you loved?                        

I cannot steal her anguish or her scars. I can't stop the blood from flowing.

How do you continue to breathe when your angel has been damned to hell?

What if these shaky hands cannot grasp all that she contains?

Flowers aren't often meant to bloom in winter; you did nothing wrong.

Selfishness overcomes compassion and obsession is mistaken for love.

Death makes no man wait, and I can't stop the aim of a trigger that has already been pulled.

she's dying, she's dying
morning glory Apr 2

I love the way you put your lips on me,

like there's not enough time left in the world

for us to be everything we want to be.

I like the way you look at me under blue lights,

not a hint of disappointment in your eyes,

just you, me and the bass making the floor shake.

I love the way we dance together, when both

bodies and souls collide in the heavy heat of

the overcrowded area. Where it's hard to breathe.

So don't let go; a love so refined

"Let me touch you there," I want your rude love.

I like it when it gets dangerous, when you're

drunk and the lights are blurred and unreadable.

I love the way you put your lips on me, but I

don't love you. And I won't live another day for you.

 Apr 2 morning
E. E. Cummings 

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

 Mar 28 morning

In this story
I call you the cursed verses
Of where I learnt wicked things
And the way you corrupted my body
How you came hungrily
Eager for velvet skin
How the silk slipped off my shoulders
And hesitated at my hips
The way my breath hitched
And you plaited our fingers
Like you'd never let go
But you left me standing on the porch
Chest open wide
Swinging from its hinges
My epilogue tells of how
My spine still won't remember its wings
No matter how many times my knees kissed the pavement

morning glory Mar 26

“I wonder what it’s like to love you.” You say as we’re lying in my bed.

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, “I don’t think anybody ever has.”

And you give me a pitiful smile, the kind you always give when I
say something so negative about myself.

I guess I’m glad I’ve come to think of it as ‘commitment’ rather than ‘pity’.

I’ve let myself drown in you. I let myself become lost in your lifeless eyes

and I’m filled with regrets but I don’t regret a thing. Maybe I Regret Breathing.

You’ll let my ghost linger, just for awhile longer. You’ll let me be real to you.

And as I feel the smoothness of you silk black hair in my hands, I wonder

if I’ve ever really loved you or if I just loved how in love we could have been. The agony of loving you won't let me die.

i miss you always, daffodil.
morning glory Mar 14

some days it hurts so much, i'm shrinking inside of myself,
you're like a thousand roses inside, thorns piercing my lungs
all i can taste is the thick blood, i'd be too afraid to kiss you,
worried that the taste might not go away, even if replaced by
the flavour of a fresh summer day on your soft lips.
a flower grows for every heavy breath, begging to be alright,
for every tear that you just won't let fall. the texture of
sadness which we encompass cannot be outwardly expressed
in such frail gestures. the brush of skin, the splatter of blood.
the wind through the blades of green grass, your pale pale
skin plays such a lovely contrast. but aren't you sick of all these
red skies? even sunsets need to take a break every now and then.

maybe it's time to move away, find somewhere new. i've always liked blue.
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