my eyes still burn from the last time we locked them you and I are like fires everyone and everything around us trying to extinguish us but our eyes they meet and make a forest fire they meet and planets explode it's like there's nothing else keeping me from moving on except for the way our eyes used to ignite at a mere glance.
a forced broken love story inspiration was my life but also "I burn for you" from Bridgerton
My eyes alight softly upon pale velvet waxing Whose grace is as weightless as a tilting feather Slowly orbiting between gentle arches Caressing the space that separates two hearts And minds locked in a tidal waltz
Waning, my gaze shifts to supple curves Outlining the crescent shaped body Which loving light reflects in full As the beats of my pulse rapidly impact Scaring the surface with my every rotation That births a new phase with every rise Yet sets my sights again upon distant beauty Teasing the mind to reach out and embrace my muse Relenting to the gravity ever drawing me nearer Until we collide in throes of violent passion Two bodies merging in the fires of love To become one forever more
i am trying to come to terms with gravity as i fall toward the floor with the awareness of the your face framed in the hall door. that's an exaggeration— there's a certain inaccuracy in conversations about bodies, personal and celestial, revolutions one around the other, that is unavoidable due to limitations of the form. so i like to be precise where it can fit in between the cumbersome dances we do. i'm not falling toward the floor but i might as well be. i can't tell you that. what's wrong you ask again but something i read about planets is that they're much farther apart than the human mind can even conceptualize. that most of space is empty and cold as we dare to spin through it. i'm thinking of the audacity of revolutions and you just wanna know why i'm so sad. i think about bodies. sinew and joints and the red ****** meatstuff that fills in the places in between. a heart pumping blood and a mouth that refuses to admit it. about the physicality, the weight of it sinking into beds that aren't mine, bodies that aren't mine. you're not standing in the doorway anymore, no one stands in doorways forever. especially not for someone who refuses ownership of the space taken up by their own body. constellations are outlines of disparate points someone tried to find a story in. i'm not much better. i think of heavenly bodies, i think of stars but they don't tell me anything i wasn't trying to deal with already.