i'm loving, but who could love me?

"he will give the devil flowers."

"he will give the devil flowers."

i think
the melody holds me

it knows me
my words come out

wrathful and
sometimes my soul burns

its blurry
when I speak

and when the wrath
of a thousand day's hourglass of my youth comes to pass
and tips and toddles over way of my past

then the future arrives
headfast
over the sun
it glows forever
my beauty never leaves
my beauty never lasts
my beauty is defined in your eyes first
once a starring role
now only
burning red
at the tip of his glass

i laugh and wonder
what is it?
what am i doing here?
why do i laugh?

when inside
i feel so little for
something so immense and amazing
i grimace at his
toddling past
i don't sip nor drink
i don't even wander in darkness alone
i don't even think

that his beauty
is for my eyes to perceive
im awful at pretending
the longing is written all over me

like a caged bird
wanting to finally be free
like a drowning word
just aching to scream

what do you think?

i don't know what i can say
im not sure if it's my place
i walk on steady cool pavement
my body sways in the ways that tipsy women pretend

to be loved

is not
my subject
nor my intent

i wish for the connection
that blew away with a kiss
a swinging hug
bare bottomed
jet fueled
sad happy
breathtakingly beautiful
pretend

suddenly
i see

my heart
appears to be mine
as it has always been

blind eyes
can't see the beauty
in anyone else
when they've captured true art

when their eyes have viewed
God like skin
hands that are far too big for caressing
they should be used to break
and rip
but they
are so gentle
and they
would never hurt anyone

when i feel low
i think about
how they were taken for granted
for so long

still
you give

i don't want to romanticize loss
but i sleep to this
my head settles not from
him
but
the mere thought

of hands that never hurt you
and words that are carefully said
and arms that stretch the lengths of the universe
and real happiness
flourished in their attention
they pick up on sad faces and silly words
you are so simple to them
they get it
they understand your ways
and your days
and your strange movements

they don't leave you
when you're sad
they'd be gentle
because in the end
that's all you've ever wanted
and that's the only love they've ever wanted to give

someone to be
a beacon of peace
a second star
a soul tie
an intimate dream

it seems
i lose touch of that kind of lover

every time I lie alone
writing poem after poem

feeling everything and nothing at all
screaming and crying
living and dying
i multitask because it's the only way I can stay

so i think of a lover with gentle hands
that could kill me

but they never would
they never could

because
when they think of bad things
they do not wrap their hands around my neck forcefully to bind their greif;

they fill them with a bouquet of pink supermarket roses carefully
and still
crushing the dead flowers
will not do them any good deed

they are already dead
and in some ways
it's easy to see that metaphor in me

they show me
love

even when they're angry

gentle hands that could kill
but still
cannot even crush the wind

catering to my every hope
being my only true love
saving my sadness
and bottling it up
catching butterflies of tears
and he takes each cup
and empties it
into the sun

and my soul burns
and i see
art

and he
has already given me his love
he has no interest in taking me
or breaking
or ripping me

apart

my soul burns past the point of resonance
he watches me live
he sets me free
and i still chase him indefinitely
because it's my choice
with my heart in my own possession
i will learn how to love again

and i start with
a man
with
hands
like silk
and a mouth that tips
no glass

a body made from pure light
and so when my demons try to tear me away from him
he won't be afraid
to chase them into the night

he will
give the devil flowers
because he
has hurt no man

and it's not like him
and his hands

never can.