it's another loud party,
filled to the brim with loud music, loud people-
i stop breathing for a bit because even that feels deafening.

i look at you,
my beautiful girl
and think about how we can never truly touch
that our cells will never know one another
as I have come to know you in my heart
and to them, the building blocks of my mortal form,
you are just another stranger in the night
passing on the street, heading home
or maybe to a bed that's not your own.

but that's a thought that the drink in my glass won't stand for
be happy! it calls to me,
its forlorn gaze of burgundy, begging to seep into my pale skin
and make me pretty in the soft light
of this absurdly loud party,

i look at you,
and i see your bright, blown open eyes
like gaping wounds into your soul
that pour the light of your life into someone else's glass

he doesn't care, he doesn't know i plead silently
but maybe that's the bitter song of my downed merlot
nipping at the fray of a battered mind

it's been a while since i've sipped at your passion,
run your lust and desire across my tongue,
savored the sweet grace of your soul brushing mine.

you always did so well to paint the inside of my mouth
the most breathtaking array of kaleidoscope colors.
now, i know only the sloshing, regretful red in my glass
and the black, pitchy smoke of my burnt out heart

oh, my beautiful girl
the soft benevolence that keeps the crescent moons painted beneath your eyes-
i could never forget how much you yearn for salvation
that which lurks within your own being

is it selfish of me to hope that, at least one of the keys
to unlocking yourself
may be hidden under my tongue,
for me to give to you, or for you to find?

is it selfish that i wish to play some role in your life
other than a quivering hand to hold?
for lest we forget, my love

we two can never truly touch-
so what good does hand holding have?

to
me
thunderstorms
are
the
purest
form
of
beauty