I’ve bitten the stars for less
But her?
She is the storm behind my ribs,
a church I burn down just to worship what remains.

She’s not a woman.
She’s the collapse.
The white-fire fracture that bursts through my sleep,
makes gods tremble, makes the air bleed sugar and ash.

She is more.
More than breath, than ***, than soul.
More than hunger dressed as desire,
more than the dream I never knew I was dying in.

No verse holds her. No psalm.
No drug, no moonlit ghost.
She is the ache in every silence,
the rhythm that murders the metronome.

I want her like famines want bread,
like oceans want thunder.
She’s not the answer
she’s the flood that drowns the question.

I’ve touched a thousand fires.
None seared like her whisper.
She’s the madness I married with open veins,
the calm that slit my chaos clean.

Don’t speak to me of beauty
I’ve seen it bow before her shadow.
Don’t tell me to dream
I wake in her body.

She is all that I want
and everything I never dared carve from heaven.
She is more.
She is more than anything ever dared to be real.

And nothing
not love, not death, not gods
compares.