"Anything you lean into deeply, with love and passion, will bring you to yourself."
                                    - @nohmtema


and what of these loves
and passions, what do
they speak
from our withered lips
when time has molded
us into monoliths baking
beneath a multitude of days;

will we recall the beauty,
the bloodthirsty rivers devoted
in toil of our worship?  
will our mind arc
in recognition of its inception;
will these feeble hands recollect
the efforts painted upon
the earth's cortex?  

will our devotions withstand
time's industrious use -
become memorialized in song,
penciled within leather tomes,
recited upon lips of lovers,
hung upon gallery walls,
or perhaps replicated
in a miracle as slight as
a child's wink?

should these devoted cathedrals
of our hearts' construction
withstand this narrow dimension,
may those who later feed upon
their artistry weld them into hope,
wander their naves and transepts,
sing from choir lofts and cultivate
their own melody of beauty
for eras to come.

She always smiles like she’s about to cry,
Looking at me,
As though she’s expecting a goodbye.
I’m not leaving,
But I can’t stay too close.
For I’m afraid to live,
But more afraid to die.

Lay with me in the rain,
  Walk with me in the twilight,
  Hold me in the dark,
  Sing to me from beside the fire.
       You glow on the fading sunlight of an autumn day,
                                                                The leaves falling,
                                       And so are you,
Dying

I am sure
That in this lifetime
Our bodies will unite
And we will bring this world to ash
It will be beautiful and destructive
As if the stars have fallen to the earth
And until then
I won't stop burning for you

When you feel my skin so close to yours,
Do you want to place your fingertips where your eyes so often go?
And do I make your heart flutter and your mind go numb?
And am I that girl who just might turn your world around?