flatten your tongue
slip it between your teeth

n.

your little lips
forming an elipsis

o.

put them together
and may you declare
a word you’d so carefully deny—
no.

you spell it out
on table tops
shout it
from the rooftops

and when cursed hands
seek to defile your shrine
may you exclaim
"i am mine"

it’s as if
loving you
has become
a habit

In a tunnel dark and deep
With no sign of life
You see the light at the end of it
Yet I fail to

The Devil had placed his hands upon my eyes
His hollow eyes sending chills down my spine
For all I see are faults
Of every single thing that I’ve done

It was a pit cold and damp
My soul struggles to break free
There was no flicker of hope
There was nothing I could see

The world ripping apart strand by strand
I endure to live
With these battle scars
But in this broken world
I must strive

The sky was grey and still
Humming with no thrill
The rainbow on the other side never came
And who am I to blame?

As I hang on to the last strands of life
A feeling of dread and sorrow wash over
The Fifer blows a haunting melody on his fife
My last glimpse of the world as love to its lover

brown-eyed boy,
you haunt my dream
with your golden gleam

brown-eyed boy,
i wonder if your touch is as soft
as the way you lay your eyes upon me
       [like i was fragile glass,
        and a simple whisper
        is enough to shatter me]

brown-eyed boy,
you’re neither the blues
of the deep abyss
or the viridescence
of oak leaves

brown-eyed boy,
you’re the soil nourishing me
all the riches of this earth
the oxygen i breathe

and brown-eyed boy?
loving you is like
overindulging in
honey
       [for you're so sweet
        and who am i to resist?]

-

there’s many things i’d like to tell you
i want to ask how your day went and if you were happier than ever
i’d like to ask if you’re alright and if not you can talk about it
but if you don’t want to that’s fine too
i want to know your favorite things and why these are the songs
that seem to leave their rhythm in your heart—
what makes your heart stop and what makes it spark?
are you an evening person or do you like when the morning sun kisses your skin telling you quietly “wake up darling, it’s a new day”
or do you like staying in when the rain pours outside while lovers share umbrellas?
did that pretty stranger you passed by in the street
make your heart stop gently the way you do to mine
or do you look down when you walk?
do i maybe cross your mind even if very briefly?
but all these questions and everything that i mean with such purity
are of no use—
once i begin to speak to you the words
stop in my
throat
with such shyness like death
and i stay
quiet like
this.