YOU are so tasteful.

so majestically bitter and slick like thick honey. ferocious peach preserves with ghost pepper infused inside. your tears salt the ocean. your verbal ***** coat a lilac scent on my tongue.

YOU are so delightfully enigmatic.

you write your letters with your own ****** ink with a scandalous smile, agonizing and anticipating the ****** of a sentence you don't dare finish. i stare with a trembling gaze at your fingertips dipped in crimson hue. your lazy eyes stagger my weight onto my right side—the weaker one.

YOU are as enlightened as a nova.

"it's a crabapple world out there," you said to me one night. doves flew in and out of your heavy-lidded eyes with hemlock threaded in their feathers. you call yourself golden wheat because you are beautiful and rare, but easily reaped when harvest season comes. when they come with scythes and pitchforks.

"revenge," you said, "for my mischievous antics."

YOU are so arcane.

there are no secrets in between the hairs on your head, a dense forest with predatorial dangers underneath. my own hairs sought those secrets as hands crept up your neck and into the golden wheat field on your head. i ache for your tell-tales. my wounds fester with the hunger to be satisfied by your apprise.

YOU are mine and wild.

for no particular reason, the atmosphere stretches thin. two heartbeats irrythmic and syncopated with the lapping of a tiger's tongue in tainted jungle water.

my hands aflame with your gasoline blood hold tight to your maverick ways. unorthodox and unkempt you are. fallible and illogical. cathartic and despotic. as much as you are all this, i ask to love it all.