Thoughts of love, no other feeling I’ve ever wanted,
to love ceaselessly and in ease, to be loved back
without fear of finding my flaws, no-insecurity to
fill out the void between us, because if it’s true love,
everything else will be parted from and we’ll have
nothing else to do and to feel. In melodramatic uplifting,
passing the Shakespearean drama, sonnets kiss us,
they’re in ode to the love we produce, on fire our
hearts, passion reaching for storms, flushed and
heavy. Wishing that our past when we never had one
another would be forgotten now, rather than later.
My hopes, my dreams, my yearnings had already
gone into exile, lover lay, lover fly, high pelican, high
like heaven, cry now? What for? Smiles swirl with
the smoke from our heat, muted silences, speak loud,
whisper now, scream louder, is it fate? Or is our love
by accident? With the Angels singing, it doesn’t seem
to matter. No longer does our shadows shape, the
soulmate we had always craved. And every poets knows
about us. Cello symphonies, harmony in the colours
they choose to paint, I say it’s for you lover, but never
are you to accept that, Muses that we replace say it’s
the ******* sessions we do. Something we have,
humanity can’t. Beauty wild in simple, complex to others,
as it was once to me, it’s something I didn’t determine,
now it’s the cause of my distractions, fly more, high now,
my blood is stronger,  until your beauty formed in the
speech of your tongue, now I can’t stop the words I love
you so. Because it’s life for me. Now you spoil me. With
nothing to offer you in return, besides my loyalty. Firefly
rustles. The only pray I got to say, other than wanting to
be holy, after easter comes, is that I just can’t die now,
I’ve always wanted to live fully and free, in her arms,
for I’ve found my own safety, maybe this is too much of
a good thing, at least now I got something to die for.
Lovers got to watch the throne, we got pistols under those
pillows, nobody likes the ones in love, conformity hurts
when they witness those to live out as they see fit.
Dusts of history slowing dying, noticed in those sunlight
beams, violet and smelling of gold in those moonlight
silver, birthing our own romance, we’re the honey and
silk when it comes to freedom in reality. Our souls are the
church in the wild, permitting rebirths and forgiving the
bite marks in apples, the love to tempt the devil himself.