the white cottage stood still
in the midst of softly and sparingly
murmuring hues of lavenders and blues.
and the green, my love, faded
little by little to white,
but it remained voiceless.

it was you—
the only soul that quivered.
you walked barefoot, holding mine,
the honeyed wails were your compass,
although the needles weren’t still.
a scream there, the point shifted;
i hope you weren’t looking.

the wind rose when you were close;
the shades quieted,
closed their eyes
in a prayer that you glimpsed
the art of their eyelashes fluttering,
as you once did mine.

did you become unaware
of the violent beats of my soul
in the grasp of your beautiful palm,
when you saw me standing
and waiting for you on the wooden porch?

nothing respired when you stood where i stood.
you ran your fingers through the wet tangles of my hair;
drips of blood slipped by the green veins of yours.
behind your back, your lost friend floated,
his hue, like wry branches, growing back
across his outstretched arms,
leaving behind pink plump lines,
as i had mine tied once upon a time on your bed.

i recognized by the way
the muscles on your back
tensed underneath my fingers
that you knew.
i lost my breath,
trying to feel yours.

“i need you on your bed
in your birthday suit
right this ******* moment,”
your whispered,
and it touched me in places
your hands weren’t
and sank into my bones.
i moaned,
your grip tightened.

you didn’t kiss me.
“yes, daddy.”
i reached the door ****,
your shoulders facing me.

my dearest love,
when i heard the gunshot,
i had only one question screaming within my mind:
who did you love more?

i hope the azure in your eyes
was never weakened by your love.

i write to forget about you,
but every sentence,
every word,
and every letter
turns and shifts and twists
and searches and cries
and screams
for you,
but i write.

there are still
the traces of you on my skin,
haunting and breathing.
no, you didn't just touch me,
your hands,
your warmth,
it all sank deep
into my bones.

brush your lips against mine once more
and my feet will slip off the edge.
do that thing again with your tongue once more
and there will be nothing holding my body.
say those words once more
and
i
        will
                    hit
                 ­             the
                                                ­ ground.

she read and read and read and read
until her eyelids didn’t let her anymore,
until she found comfort in the dark behind the baby-blue of her eyes.

she danced and danced and danced and danced
until her hips hurt from all the sways,
until drunken eyes left her body,
until they showed her what she wanted.

she kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed
until his warm lips turned plump,
until she admitted to herself that she wished it was him instead,
until she realized she didn’t want his lips that were fatal and she was dying.

she let and let and let and let hands do anything on her body
until she wished for at least one of the touches to be warm
until she wished for it to ignite the bloom in her lungs and burn what he left in it.

she didn’t sleep.

pretty little boy
with scars on his back
and fingers running down my spine,
searching for my own crevices,
finding worse than he’s ever seen
with eyes focused straight on my skin
and hearts beating slower,
finding what we could never find