My heart is weeping in a million pieces
and I don’t think even your breath could
stop my rage; at least
not like the last time.
And there are some nights where it feels like
I just can’t stop crying.
Even when there are no tears,
I just can’t stop crying and giving
my heart out to every single breathing thing.
The Earth is groaning just to the left of my lungs
and your eyes cannot halt the earthquakes of my fingers.
I’m just so ******* lonely that it breaks
my ******* heart to see myself
sleeping so alone.

And yet,
the deluge that my eyes pour forth to flood,
won’t drown the fact that you’re in my blood.

You are a child of the Universe.
The pith of your heart and the atoms in your skin
have existed since the beginning of time.
You have an unquestionable right to live.
You are integral and vital.
Your steps grace the Earth with your presence just as,
the Earth graces your feet with its presence when you walk.
Your identity is a facet of humanity just as,
your body is a temporary expression of the Universe.
You can never truly die.
When you choose to accept this,
you may dwell in radiance.

There is poetry in your eyes;
the call of spring rests on your teeth.
When thieving lovers punch and prise,
in generosity you bequeath,
a piece of you in evergreen,
a piece that leaves you incomplete.
How vulnerable and bare you seem,
and your lips taste of defeat.

[it's 9:28pm and the moon is sending me tremors and I'm
burning but nothing makes me shiver as much as your]

Eyes steeped in beauty agleam,
as lilacs bloom around your feet.
How vulnerable and bare you seem,
your lips taste soft and sweet.

why is the moon the only face I have to kiss me goodnight?
I want you and you and you and I laugh when
I realise that the only living thing I've slept beside is my cat. I
want to see you, all of you [and you], all of your
gruesome angles or unfortunate shades of light, all of your hasty glances
when you look across the pillow, an
insignificant smile gathering at the left of your lips
when you look across the pillow to see,

[my hands trembling from a lack of
holding foreign skin
and you]

when you look across the pillow to see me.

When he talks, I can hear it.
Every syllable, I can hear it.
Every time his tongue whips the back of his upper teeth I hear it.

When his lips are shooting arrows, slicing crimson haze I hear it,
hear the anguished rumble of Venus birthing stellar symphonies,
and when his vocal cords are trembling do I hear this convocation.
As the sun begins to cry, do I hear of merciful heavens.
When fiery lips blast melodies that stun my ears and sear my tongue,
do I hear the distant quell as nebulae shiver crack and burst.

He slaughters constellations with prose.
He ignites the universe with murmurs.
He pulls Andromeda in speech,
every astral breath and screech.