Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.

Passion's Poor Alliteration.

I bet you have absolutely no idea how much it stings
for you to kiss me to sleep every night,
only for me to than wake up alone in the morning.
Your lips. My skin. Together can fold into a tapestry
of your cells upon mine. Gone, finally, when you slip
away into the dark, leaving nothing but the cold pelt
of the moon as an apology. An excuse you will forget
by the next time the cycle repeats itself.
I've found, that sometimes I wake up at midnight, long after
your body's weight has lifted itself from the mattress,
only to discover that the dark blue sky is only that colour,
because the sun is leaking blood onto its surface.

I don't like the thought that the sun and bleeding, could
be related in any way possible for the human soul to read,
So I'll do my best to forget about it.
Let the memory run from my brain as though my very
mind was a shotgun and the idea a petrified target.
All I can do now, is hope that history doesn't allow itself
to repeat.
It has always found out how to force repetition through the
seams of my obviously imperfect existence,
Like how his smile once reminded me of one of my old self
harm cuts, and how in my shock, I am ashamed to say,
I found the idea of it comforting.

Or how your limbs tangled up with mine like two necklaces,
Gold and silver, mixed into knots in a jewellery box reminded me
of the anxious knot left inside me after my dad left.
How my touch upon your chest, was my dialect mixing with yours.
It is still the most beautiful language my body has ever experienced.

It's such a shame that the history only replayed it through the
mixing of blue and green, ocean shades of longing that held no
tide strong enough to pull our drifting bodies together.

Tomorrow, you will come back before the sun sets,
kiss me here

                       Here                                        and

                                                       here.

And leave before my body stops shaking from it all.
Silently begging that you could, for once, stay,
So history has something my bones could bare to remember.