your eyes are ablaze with halcyon, verging on the edge of diamond. you are sweet like ichor, you have been competing with the god of wine. (though definitely not with vodka). hands and wandering fingertips— sometimes they touch me like i am made of glass and other times i am made of metal, and sometimes i am both.
when your words spill out of your mouth, caught in your jacket and filling up the pockets; sounding like a smoky and curious dawn, and cloudless autumn days.
and how you talk of me so my heart swells up and eyes flutter upward, and my palms touch my blushing cheeks.
tranquil evenings become aphrodisiac whispers in the dark of the night, windows rolled up, foggy and nebulous.
breathe out the intoxicating air. breathe in.
i feel empyrean when we sit above the city lights.
