The water kissed
the edges of the beach,
and the moon kissed
the sun goodnight,
but you never even
managed to kiss me
goodbye.

I think I heard the sound
of every rainbow falling down,
collapsing into your veins,
capturing your smile and
painting colours in the
back of your throat.

I saw each and every colour,
exploding from your body,
I think I saw the sun rise
in your eyes,
I think I tasted the rainbow
in your kiss.

It painted colours in your lungs
and left its mark on your breath.
This is the closest I have ever got
to seeing colours,
let alone tasting them on the
tip of your tongue.

If I looked you
in the eyes,
I would see
the end of everything
we ever had.

If I heard your
words, I would
hear the start
of a war.

If I put a gun in
my mouth, all I
would taste is
your name.

Your sweet lips
taste just like hers
I've tasted them before
Tasty honey lipstick
on top of yours
You rustled me
out of her door
Now you're on the inside
taking more than I could give
Sighing with your lips
on top of hers
She's wanting more
Give her another kiss for me
then hurry home
and kiss me with her lipstick
while I think of her
on top of yours.

r ~ 7/18/14

It's 2am and
I can't sleep.
Maybe it's because
this is the first night
in months
that we haven't slept
in each others arms
and honestly,
I don't know how to sleep
anymore
if you're not holding me,
if your lips aren't staining
my face,
my neck,
if your fingers aren't tracing
patterns on my chest,
if our bodies are not
entangled and our hands
intertwined,
like vines spiralling up the
side of an abandoned house,
caught up in each other
like lovers that lay
side by side,
each one dreaming
with the others eyes.

I can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the back of my mind and I can't reach in far enough to take the batteries out, and that's when I realised it had stolen mine and I can't remember how to work, how to breathe, how to be and you're laying next to me but wait you're not or maybe I'm mistaking the fact that I'm mistaken or god I must be daydreaming of your lips against mine and it's only half past five in the afternoon and I'm sitting here in the middle of uni trying to think of how to say your name without it taking a hold of my throat and scraping down my lungs and choking me half to death and I'm wondering how to touch you or let you touch me without setting myself on fire and I'm trying to remember where all the stars have gone and then I looked into your eyes and found them and then you opened your mouth and more came spilling out and I'm trying to concentrate on what your hand feels like in mine but I'm also concentrating on how your bones feel underneath my fingertips, your collarbones, hipbones, your bones that I once only thought of as part of the human body but now it feels different when I'm touching yours and now I'm thinking about the way your fingernails dig into my back I guess you could say you use it as a canvas and as long as you're the only one making art on this strange substitute of a canvas then I'm okay with that, as long as your name stops choking me and my lungs stop being raw from your name and from trying to scrape out the taste of another's breath when he kissed me at a party you weren't at and I threw up afterwards because I only wanted your lips, not his and I hope you know that I love you and I hope you love me too, and I can hear footsteps coming and all I can think of is you and I hope they are yours but I know they aren't because you're not down today I don't think but I'm still hoping and I wish you had come today and I've lost myself in thoughts of you, and oh god I think I'm in far too deep.

Your name is imprinted
in my mouth,
under my tongue and
scraping down my lungs,
your fingertips are finding
holes in my body
that other people have left,
and you have a piece of string
and you're trying to stitch me
back together,
sewing the holes
shut,
kissing my scars that,
if they ever reopen,
and i swear it would be an
accident,
they would bleed your name.
And your nails have left
a mark on my back,
as if by digging in hard enough,
you could make art on a
canvas made of skin
and I don't think you know this,
but, by sewing the holes shut,
you wrapped the broken bones in my
body back up,
I remember when I tried to
glue my bones back together
with glue that never actually
worked, and I never tried
stitching them up like you did.
I like to imagine you made a
row of ribbons along my
ribcage that spell out your name.
And someday, maybe these
broken bones will be fixed,
with cracks along every single
one of them that scream your
name like the air in my lungs
do, and I guess that's okay.