It’s been a day or two since we’ve left this room.
I’m lost and enraptured by the fragility surrounding our isolation.
I spend much of my time counting things.
I count the slats on your window blinds, I count the clothes scattered on your bedroom floor, I count the scars on your body.
I count every different language and color I could learn to love you in.
I count the questions I’m too afraid to speak out loud.
I even count the numbers that control the theory of counting.
How did the curious corners of your eyes add stains of light and color to every doorway of darkness inside my scattered mind?
How did you break the chain of morbid poetry that flows within me?
The darkest quadrant of my mind could not extinguish the way you illuminate. …show more content…
My darkness has succumbed to the tyranny of every color you’ve helped me discover, so now I can only write in your direction through vivid memories of your skin in the morning sun.
Nothing travels faster than the speed of light.
I want to learn your skin, to leave goose bumps on every part I have yet to discover and spend my morning reading them like braille.
I want to retract every feature of your face with the tips of my fingers and absorb all your colors while you sleep.
I start to count again while I watch you glow as you turn into dust.
Your touch burns through my bones like arsenic and and my skin begs for oxygen as I feel my blood rush to its surface. This overwhelming sensation crawls up to the very delicate hairs that live on the slope of my neck to linger for awhile.
Is this your light?
Or is the sun sneaking through the semi-shut blinds that’s keeping me warm inside?
I am lost and enraptured by the fragility surrounding our isolation and I’m terrified to move as I could destroy all of this
I’m lost and enraptured by the fragility surrounding our isolation.
I spend much of my time counting things.
I count the slats on your window blinds, I count the clothes scattered on your bedroom floor, I count the scars on your body.
I count every different language and color I could learn to love you in.
I count the questions I’m too afraid to speak out loud.
I even count the numbers that control the theory of counting.
How did the curious corners of your eyes add stains of light and color to every doorway of darkness inside my scattered mind?
How did you break the chain of morbid poetry that flows within me?
The darkest quadrant of my mind could not extinguish the way you illuminate. …show more content…
My darkness has succumbed to the tyranny of every color you’ve helped me discover, so now I can only write in your direction through vivid memories of your skin in the morning sun.
Nothing travels faster than the speed of light.
I want to learn your skin, to leave goose bumps on every part I have yet to discover and spend my morning reading them like braille.
I want to retract every feature of your face with the tips of my fingers and absorb all your colors while you sleep.
I start to count again while I watch you glow as you turn into dust.
Your touch burns through my bones like arsenic and and my skin begs for oxygen as I feel my blood rush to its surface. This overwhelming sensation crawls up to the very delicate hairs that live on the slope of my neck to linger for awhile.
Is this your light?
Or is the sun sneaking through the semi-shut blinds that’s keeping me warm inside?
I am lost and enraptured by the fragility surrounding our isolation and I’m terrified to move as I could destroy all of this