I've always
adored the way
you smiled.
The corner of
your lips crooked -
how you pursed
your lips together,
so bravely,
so beautifully,
and I
fear (and yearn)
more than anything
that I will forget
the crooked corners
of your joyous lips
now that
all is left of them
is the ever fading,
goddamned memory
of them oh-so
gently grazing
my begging,
pale skin.
So that once again,
all I will ever feel
will be the evanescent air
and its lonely (safe)
overwhelmingness.
I touch my
calloused fingertips
to the place
on my cheek
Where you'd
press your lips
against,
and breathe,
"You are the
only oxygen
my lungs will
accept.
As long as I live,
it'll be because
of you.
You have purpose.
You have light.
You are essential."
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryA collection of tragedies of sorts, of demons or angels (whatever you'd fancy to call them) that lurk and/or gleam in my mind. Written when the moon's dreary and the sun's near awakening. Obnoxiously metaphoric, subtly inspirational. © Jake Sullivan...
