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F𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 —
"she is beautiful," i cried, "my god, is she beautiful!"
her laugh is stuttering, a bit drunk on the reality of pleasure/ it flows over her cheeks to bundle gently at the creeks of her vision/ soft edges of her every action that are no less than muted thunder/ against my dull skies, she's the northern lights of aurora/ they did find a new galaxy under the slight rain on the twelfth of November/ dear priestess, there are ways to be misled in the name of faith but she's what every religion preaches of/ for i am a sinner with heels cursed to bring me damnation/ she's the conspectus of my salvation.
she's a gorgeous mess; of endearing embarrassments and pretty threats.
she's the pouring rain on my forest fires/ i am the destruction, i burn myself at every pyre/ pardon me, oh kind sire, if i stare at her like a lost sailor/ she's what i dreamed to be, she's what i bragged i would become/ i found in her my northern star, His gift to my skies/ she soaks up my eclipses, a count of 3,653 sunrises/ oh, sire, you do not know of how easily she rusted my sharp knife.
my brain's a disease and you're an elixir, oh my, that chaotic quiet angel face, whose soul's studded with angelic tears! oh, how i would've been long poisoned had you not been here.
i harvest an overwhelming fondness for her, i dare you'd witness it, if you were to crack my hurt/ her hair is tangled in my idea of peace. her words are too soothing to balm my aching touch/ she's what i imagined a friend to be, she's the result of all my manifestations/ i can't escape her sprouts of kindness when she's buried deep inside my arc of redemption/ i am not affluent but i am the wealthiest when i am with her.
"How would you hold her?"
"like it's my purpose. like she was the reason i was made for. like the tea is held by the kettle."
i was fourteen, never seen, running mazes and chasing masks of people who never cared/ used and rubbed and stretched and disposed of till my bones almost decayed/ so if you wonder where this devotion for her stems from/ i would present you with a convincing debate/ i was a blind man, reading Braille through my scars of backstabbing betrayal/ so i believe you understand why i look at her like i found my sun.
i am overwhelmed with gratitude. my dearest, i don't know who i'd be without you.
her soul drips of ichor/ and her sorrow makes me wanna burn the world/ i had my fair share of pain but/ i would walk over the sharp edges if it meant i get to reach her/ she's the blues, the melody of jazz and all its chords when it slows into the chorus./what would you call her being? they asked and i swore there was only one term — no other word justifies her superiority or her ability to practice patience/ i just smiled with her face homed in my lids, her overflowing empathy and her emotional brilliance/ i never meant something more than i did when i declared, "a marvel."
she is glorious. she made me cry out my poison. i hold no hatred now.
she's the moon that stores all the stars in her eyes/ it's like being 15 and gazing at galaxies in a planetarium every time i watch her smile/ she's the one i had asked for, she's the anchor of my tides/ in my teens i've drank acid rains and polluted seas — i've been parched, broken lips like drought for a lifetime/ but her river is enough for me to last cause my dearest is not my lover, so i can trust her with my life/ i wonder with a smug glint as i ask you now, "have you met a person as perfect as mine?"
my demons ought to fall on their knees, you've taught them humanity, cause if my anger was to be as great as Achilles, you'd be the heel.
her smile blooms before it disperses into the air, bright and vibrant, like the summer of 2016/ i wonder if she'll ever run out of struggles she wins or hearts to steal/ her innocence is damning, and, my lord, i can't pass the verdict/ for her crimes are committed with purest intentions, without her knowing how her kindness cures my anxiety/ dear jury, she eats my soul with her dainty arms and yet you ask me why i forgive,/ cause she makes me feel alive before she leaves at my grave a purple hyacinth.
