i want to find mythology in your lips
i want to breathe in eons of loud prayers in one desperate gasp and exhale against the desert dunes of your frail hipbones
i want my hands in your waterlily hair
i want to carve scoring lines into the corinthian columns of your spine
i want people to flock to us with their eyes wide and their hands shaking
i want them to believe that if love ended we'd be the last ones standing
i want them to speak about us in a hushed tone like reverence and jealousy
but your eyes are every story where the hero wins while i am the fate they meet at the bitter end
i am cold nights where the worst tales of shadows come creeping out from under beds while you are the lantern they scare people like me away with
if you are a bullet, i am the gun, i am burning up for want of you, i am a forgotten god and i would die to be worshipped on your tongue
but i am whiskey and dust while you are the stars and the sun.
