Emotions erase the words
cracking our lips—
fighting the sentences
we try so hard
to refrain from.
So you tangle your breath
into my washed out salmon strands,
streaming figure-eight rivers
down my thin neck.
And I wander my fingers
across a blissful field of feelings,
condensing the air between us.
I know I’ve waited so long for a spring to call you mine,
since a human heart can only contain a plethora of sympathy
at a single time, I personally think
you’re the perfect pink chaos,
to sprout a love—pungent in pyres,
always seeking redemption with desire,
where little seedlings
can eternally bestow upon
pure beauty and passionflower divinity.