And under the stars, the first time we touched, I gave myself to you.

Unknown to what was present, we acted on the binding impulse of energy written from hopeful thoughts and clouded states of mind.

You were the drug and I, your victim; every word evoked seeping like a poison through my skin. You, the smoke to my lungs, addictive and screaming the very meaning of pleasure.

You were the minx, the temptress, my master and obsession. The feelings of guilt overridden by lust and passion, I was unable to hold a single breath.

But my love, my nymphette, how brightly you shone. What are morals when the heart leaps forth?

Reflecting the incandescent light of the moon, I watch the violet veins arise from your skin. You are a woman on this night.

Darling, I can feel your body grow cold. You draw closer with every movement, our pores blooming to retain the warmth.

Our love is imminent, flourishing with every subtle touch and every rhythmic ******.  

We lie gazing at the dark skies once more, you awake but barely conscious, I compelled to hold you.

But my love, I took your soul that night.

Slowly,
she becomes smaller and smaller,
bones beginning to **** the surface of her skin.

And it’s on these late nights
that I feel most compelled
to want to lay down
next to your face
and watch as your eyes,
so piercing under dim lights,
draw patterns deep in to my skin.

I recoiled
from under the sheets,
turned to your face
so lulled in sleep,
the man that I had committed
the deepest sin to,
now showing such innocence.

I reached for a cigarette,
cloth falling away
exposed goosebumps to bare skin,
and I listen to the silence
of the empty room.

How I had longed
for that innocence you possess
while you slept.

Although four years above me
you contained the mind
of a child,
and I
the mind of a woman.

I wanted at that moment,
to touch my lips to yours
as we sat so close,
yet I stayed
with my nose dug deep
into the nape of your neck
and let my tears streak
on your skin
as you bound me so tightly
to your chest.

"I feel sick"
"Go lie down for a bit"
"I'm not sick physically"

There was a house,
walls touching mine
with cracked wooden planks
for walls.

They were a bright blue
torn and withered,
so full with age.

Workmen gathered around the front,
hoping to tear the turquoise
and the teal chipped wood.

Two friends and I
one small and soft,
the other loud

Scrambling over the fence,
so as not to be seen
although we were alone

And in the house
we lay,
smoking cigarettes
and watching the smoke
curl above us.

So untamed it was,
wild and running,
splitting as drops of rain
leaked from the cracks
in the ceiling.

The sound of our laughter
had filled the house
with more emotion
than I had ever heard.

This was the best day of my life
as we filled a once silent house,
with the drunken atmosphere
of our youth.