our love...
exists.
our love exists,
behind closed doors,
behind four walls
that push up against my lungs
squeezing until I suffocate.
our love exists while you
stand there and stare,
open mouthed
unable to accept
the fact that you denied
a delicate butterfly
the right to take off
that you set fire to a field
of tulips that were begging
for new fallen rain.
you touch me with electricity,
but i am used to this burn.
i am used to this broken feeling;
the feeling after your wings have been
plucked off
and every last layer of skin
has been set on
fire.