the slow art of breathing bitter

Summer Love

He sits by my side every Tuesday in the library.

We don't talk; we let the creamy silence

roll over between us, between the smooth pages

of Shakespearean novels and Peacock's poetries.

The scintillating touches of sun and bare friction in between.

There only linger deep breaths, bubblegum, and rosy scents.

Not many words, nothing else.

But today's something else—

something fifty shades darker than the lingering silence.

His beige hoodie and light-washed jeans

do not smell of bubblegum or wood.

But love—only love—today.

And it's hard to stay away

from him;

A celestial mass of wanting more and

the colored sunshine falling wider.

The curve of his lips burns in the sunlight.

He gives me his scented pen to write.

I want to say 'thank you,'

but it seems I've lost my voice in the stormy depths

of his eyes. A moment of eternity

to be trapped in an empty green bottle.

I count the gently crashing waves

in his eyes,

and the glitters of sunlight that smell of roses and love.

Our fingers weave together, thinning the light as

our shadows grow nearer.

The silence rolls over like smoke before crumbling in the walls.

I dream of red roses and bright sunflowers;

I wish to draw them on your heart.

The moments drag slowly, slower than ever,

and the dream ends abruptly;

My adoration combusted into horror.

The intoxication's gone in the blur of whites and blues.

The dream is a burden again in the 

crushed crayons of burning flesh.

But it doesn't matter;

I've already had your name written on my heart,

even though I do not love you now.

But I'd love you under the daylight tomorrow again.