The curve of your life line fits around my waist and the shortness of your breath makes me look at my palm and see
my life line is short
closing my eyes is romantic breathing is romantic walking and running and twitching in my sleep everything is romantic
i romanticize the universe and its ability to ****
we have no place to stay but our homes but our homes are not our homes they are the
Houses
the windows are clear i see you behind blinds and thick curtains i see you cry and know the familiar sound of
Weeping
but the trace of wetness on your cheeks propels me to stare the tear escapes in and out of your nose and in between
The Lips
features and flaws are washed and stained and i can smell the deep violent of your cry
the shaking the turmoil the fading of consciousness is all too known
it's recognized so well because i cry in front of the mirror
now i know vulnerability