There is a whirlpool where my heart should be.

It swallows the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand, all the beauty in the ways you love me, without apology.

In the darkness, if your body was lying still next to my own, I would turn you into a sunset, finger paint the shallow hues of blue, the nostalgic purples and pinks all swirled together against the grain of your skin.
I would show you all the ways your love turns the melanin of my skin into shades of red, like I am a rose in the garden of everything you love, everything that loves you.

And I will untie the knots of your soul like they are shoe laces:
Pulling
And pulling
And pulling at the strings of everything you are until you've unraveled, all your broken pieces blended with my broken pieces, we could create a mosasic, we could be a work of art.
And isn't that ironic, how things that are so broken, can be so beautiful?

There is a whirlpool where my heart should be, it swallows all your love for me, and all its beauty, without apology.