To open or not to open. That is the question.
I want to kiss you everywhere. The selfish part of this is that I want to kiss you everywhere because then you will never be able to go anywhere without the taste of us like blood in your mouth following along with you.
Dark paradise. You’ll look back on the days the sun was too bright in your eyes and remember a taste or a smell and you’ll let it sear into you, swallowing your insides whole because even something in suffering feels so complete. I have always imagined that paradise would be like a library. That, or drinking black coffee and having you look at me and know I don’t need cream or sugar.
After the rain melted you away from me,
I found you in all the things that you had touched:
everything sobbed a little from the loss of you
but mostly your shadows and imprints were inside of me and on the days I was my loneliest I could swear that when I listened hard enough
I had two pulses, not one.