chimes and rustling wind with no sound

mouthful of moths

you speak of love with the breath
that smells like fuzzy alcohol, 
burnt cigarettes, and heavy smoke.
i speak of love with the breath 
that tastes like the gaps between my ribcage,
muddy ink that writes about the secrets of
galaxies and the stories of this infinite universe,
and shadows of your silhouette on my bed.
but, then, you're a terrible liar and so am i.
we have mouthful of moths and cobwebs.
lies are like sparrows 
and crows soaring in our throats.
some cut and bleed like words turned knives
with rusted edges pointed on a lover's neck.
there's a blood on your wrists and my lips. 
did our sharp tongues bruise each other? then, just,
take me and possess me with your light
for one last time, for one last night, so,
i could promise you that this last of lasts,
i would finally kiss your wounds goodbye.