His neck, my hand, pure skin under pale fingers
Words flowing like colors of the sunset
Darker and deeper with every thought.
The blue in my eyes grew monotone as the tears
Drained their color. The emptiness aged
But the affection lived, intensity cultivated a colony.
Pale fingers weaved into the curls he put behind him,
Forgetting the tangled past that defined
The being I am. But his fingers brush my face
And realign my spine. The words ionize into letters
in the sound of his moan I feel in my chest.
And my vision blurs and the intensity goes sharp.
The pins rain from the sky in my head and I think, for once,
What if i stayed?