cello boy,
young and sweet
he finds it hard to eat
he says
to be thin is to be beautiful

young and innocent ,
he doesn't look at me
as he curves the bow
an instrument
that sings only for him

cello boy,
he has curls
hanging in his eyes
the curve of his lips is parted
but he is hardly breathing

cello man,
sometimes i dream
entirely accidentally
of his arms around me
he plays me like
an instrument

and i would sing for him,
only him.

I once had
a beautiful voice
and you asked me
why I no longer sing.
I turned to you
and quietly replied
"because I was a bird,
and you clipped my wings."

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be.*" - Wuthering Heights.

beauty, is in love's eyes,
i once read that if he still makes your heart
anchor itself to your abdomen,
after three months, it's love.

well, my metaphors are wasted on you,
my words are a fancy way of
expressing myself and they contain
too much of you.

you've got a temper,
enough to rumble under these streets,
and collapse what i've been building.

i get sick of building blocks,
love is child's play, and i just want
us to be adults.

i promised to love you, and i do in
my own odd ways,
you broke my heart, i broke yours.
i still want you to know,
a mosaic wouldn't be so beautiful,
without all the cracks.