heartburn expulsion

this is not the time to be writing such lines

but nothing can be more important than love-

- love a watery blanket i dress round every object of my affection, love i claim i pluck from above, showered down upon me from celeste into my fat pink hands- i go forth baptising everything i touch in the name of this lofty love.

i falter at you.

today we made music together. literally, this isn't a poetic line. circled in red ribbon of divine love, the air thick with golden haze. could you feel it? the synchronicity? did you feel it when we looked each other in the eyes, could you see my eyes glisten with pathetic hopeful tears, did you see the blatant magenta hearts in my irises? i couldn't see yours, your epicanthal folds are cleverly thick and lidded your inky pupils. this music isn't even for us, but God, did You tie our guitar strings together so each pluck would fizz out magic? it was sheer superfluos magic, ebbing between our instruments, our hands swaying in time like a dance, chords melting into the atmosphere, my heart melting too. this music isn't for us, but it is, and God, oh God, please, i'm sorry for contaminating the worship with my selfish pining, but

oh God give me one more chance to be loved by another being of flesh and bone. give me a dusty dirt boy who's so real, whose missing rib is in my ribcage, a mallet ringing on the drum of my heart, a flowering stem of love and life and laughter. God please give me this boy, with Your tender artist hand You've drawn forever joy on his face etched in the smile lines hanging by the corners of his upturned lips, the crows feet inked at his winking eyes. God, each time this boy laughs i know i need to catch the peals of his chiming laughter and press them to my heart but each time i think i do it fades from view- i know what it's supposed to sound like, this boy knew that i mentioned i never heard him laugh once (though this is a lie, i had really just forgotten. why did i forget? how could i forget?) and the next night he stayed by my side, crouched over me, and issued a fluttering of petals from his belly that breezed by my ear. i couldn't catch it. i know it was light and it was dark and it was high and it was low and it was hearty and it was mindful. i know- i hope- he did it for me.

when we part, he's always in a hurry to go off. when we work together, there is no symptom of affinity in his speech. what am i doing? this is not real. none of this is real and he is just a two-dimensional finger painting i've happily squashed onto unprimed canvas.