i'm thinking of the galaxies in his eyes and the stars in his lashes and the dark silk that's his hair and how soft it looked, how soft it was and how the fringe was up just a little bit and how for some odd reason, it made me think of feathers. and of how soft his hands were, how uncertain and when his arm was around me and he bent and kissed me but moved back like he'd been burned and how his laugh sounded over the phone and how his lips danced around my name...how huge and dead his pupils were, how lost when he looked at me-but not really at me, past me, through me-for the last time..

your mouth is several degrees hotter than mine
and the heat was delicious
you devoured me with your lips, teeth, and tongue
it was a bruising kiss that i returned with equal intensity
our lips in an act of passion and possession

sometimes
i apologize so much
i feel like i'm saying sorry for my existence

I can't stop thinking about how everyone is someone, but at the same time everyone is no one.

i.
there's something melancholy,
something tragically beautiful
about loving someone who doesn't love you

ii.
there is a certain sadness
of bleeding for someone who
wouldn't even shed a tear for you

iii.**
and there is a certain romance
to reaching out and falling to the floor
and falling for you and crying silent storms
of unexpected kisses and warm hugs.