our love was always
explosive, wasn't it?
highly geothermic,
wayy off the
seismometer
marks, we're strata,
baby--
classified under 600 years of
having alternate dolorous
dormant and active properties (active, lately),
weathered with sulfric lava explosions and pH 2
phosphoric acid tears//
juvenile destruction ranges
from 100 to a hundred-and-
sixty degress celsius or until
we tear ourselves open again
and leave our hearts to burn
in lava lies:
what we have?
is a volcano
kind of love.
we have cratered
hearts; baby!
don't worry, we
were always at
fault.
our intermittent magmatic
heart rates algorithmize to
ash and rage gone mentally pyroclastic-- so is declared
by the white-coat
volcanologists that studied
us (too) closely since the
night i kissed basalt bruises
on your breaking eyes so that
they can doubtlessly match
mine.
(baby, it hurt me. so...
it must hurt you too,
right? it must hurt
you too.)
in statistical and hypothetical hypothesis they therefore
conclude that in layman's
terms, i simply can not love
(i don't understand. i've been
so good to you, haven't i?), for
they claim to have observed in
me this boiling melancholic
dolor every time you told me
you wanted something else
and--
this was attuned to scientific
evidence like 3/o6/o5: the last
time i ripped out your heart
and held you in my loving
embrace again, but baby, i
cannot comprehend that that
could hurt you. baby, baby
what I understand is that:
[f= ma]
does NOT equate to
[force equals mass
times acceleration]
but rather:
[dilexit fortuna iuvat;
A cta deos numquam
M ortalia F allunt]
which translates to:
[fortune favors the
loved; mortal
actions never
deceive the gods.]
so therefore let me
[i can] let me [i
can] love you on
this burning rocky
geography, under
all of this acid rain
and i'm sorry
if i'll hurt you but--
baby, i told you,
we have a
volcano kind
of love.
(you
understand,
right?)
the scientists advised
me that it's better for
me not to love you at
all.
ha! fools. so what if
i'm practically
eating the hope out
of your cinder
cone heart?
IF YOU CANNOT BEAR
TO BE LONELY THEN
YOU MUST DETEST
WHAT YOU LOVE.
isn't it, isn't it... long ago
... we decided that
geology is an imprint of
the past? we have all
these memories swelled
up in smiles that can...
go through amplification
when remembered that
prove that i indeed love you,
and there's the fact that if it
wasn't your gentle hands
that wiped the tears away...
then I would have no
recollection of the fact that
my world never had an
earthquake from the start.
i don't know.
maybe it's me.
i'm sorry that
i couldn't love
you the way
you're
supposed to
be.
or i don't know.
maybe it's
you.
no one loves me
the way you do.
hey... so... you'll stay,
right?
-because you're my
volcano lover.
with all the
destruction,
erruptions, and
all the love right in
between.
● ●
●
○you said... you'd○
○ always stay ○
○ with me. ○
●
YOU ARE READING
love; and other disorders
Poetry"i just sat there, coughing frightful swans birthed from milk grapefruit flower love to swim in the pools of midnight, as you (with your fingers slightly touching mine) charmed the half-crazed moon with a rare rosen wine berry into what we were: a 2...
