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You called yourself Art,
What an understatement for a masterpiece.
I know you left.
I'd pick you
Every time.
And I wept for what we used to be.
When he was my muse
and I his poet.
Everyone knew us to be immortal.
And then
It wrapped around me like a hug.
Digging into my shoulder blades
and resting on my ribcage.
I traced his lips
and breathed him in
oxygen to a fire he could not control.
we burned into ash.
They couldn't tell where she began and I ended.
Our lines blurred together
spilling over our skin.
Ruining us for anyone else.
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