Fuchsia Kisses

I am the night sky. Stars burn themselves into my skin; the moon is a fickle mouth upon my chest. Opening, closing. Smiling, frowning.

I am black and white.

But you are the day time, and you are constantly covered in color, color, color. Radiant reds, pastel pinks, violent violets. Brilliant oranges and soft yellows, subtle shifts from hue to hue to hue. And blues, so many blues. Blues like a robin’s egg’s shell, like the eyes of a child, like a sapphire gemstone.

You are my beginning and my end.

You welcome me with fuchsia kisses; you send me off with a crimson caress.

 

 

Advertisements

Holy Mornings

You deserve the dew, the breeze, the morning sun.

Those holy mornings where we would walk barefoot on the damp grass are my most cherished memories. Cool skin and cooler air, the dawn light reflecting off the droplets and making the water look like gemstones. They would cling to each blade of grass before falling like tears, evaporating into the air, or being squished beneath our toes. You would smile beneath a rose-gold sky and your eyes would glow so warmly.

You deserve countless sunrises like that. I wish I could them to you.

If I could pluck the mornings from others and bring them home to you, I would. Not all of them, of course; I would never steal all the daybreaks from one unfortunate person. I know you would never want me to be so cruel.

No, I would just take one – a single morning from everyone in the world (they wouldn’t miss just one, surely?). I would take them as gently as I could, swath their sunrise thoughts in my arms and carry them to you so tenderly. Then you would have a morning from everywhere, from north to south, from east to west.

You deserve them all.

I wish I could give them to you.

Starlight Satiation

You satiate me.

You are the heavens in these skeletal arms, you are the cosmos in these shaking hands. You are saccharine starlight, so sweet, so divine, so good. I could pull the true skies apart – leave you unscathed and instead reach my talons upwards, tear open those celestial bodies and make the heavens themselves weep… but those crystalline tears would be flavorless compared to you: mere water to your liquid gold.

Everything you are consumes me… and it seems only fitting as I consume you, too.

When you’re here.

When you’re not.

Your radiant luster clings to my palms long after you’ve gone, your seductive sheen gets stuck under my nails – evidence that I’ve clawed just a bit too deeply, that I’ve taken just a bit too much.

It’s never too much.

I dip my own fingers in my mouth and taste the lingering notes of rapture.

I lick my palms clean and drink every remaining morsel of paradise.

Soon, too soon, achingly soon… my palette is cleansed, my tongue, dry.

I’m left thirsty again.

Red

Don’t lie, it’s all right

There’s no need for truth tonight

I just want to keep painting this fragile fantasy

Let me

Let me

Don’t try, it’s all right

There’s no need for us to fight

I just want to float around in this snow globe fantasy

Let me

Let me

I’d break skies for you

Grab the heavens with my fingers, rip them open, tear the clouds

Bleed sunsets into your pretty head

Make you hear navy, taste violet, know red

I understand now

I understand

Linger

Full-bodied,
Rich,
You’re an oak-aged, liquid velvet.
So robust, aromatic,
Très charmant.

You’re made to sip,
Slowly.

You linger on the tongue,
Supple, smoky, slightly sweet.
Your after-taste says:

Wait.
Notice.
Feel.
Appreciate me for the masterpiece that I am.

Then, in the space between an exhale a lifetime –

Drink from me again.

You linger on the tongue…

Suffocating

Your presence is of the suffocating variety.

I wish I could say that I mean that in a metaphorical, poetic way, but I don’t. You literally make it difficult to get air into my lungs. Across the room, a single stare, a soft laugh. One tiny smile, and I can’t breathe.

It’s almost funny. How pathetic I am, I mean. I could be on my knees with my hands bound, my head bowed beneath the guillotine, and I still would be better off speaking like that than knowing you are in the vicinity. I could address the masses in the nude on national television more easily than I can respond to your witty banter or knowing smirk.

And it is knowing, isn’t it? You know all too well that your presence turns me into a hot mess, and I bet you get off on that.

No, I know you get off on that.

Arrogant prick.

It shouldn’t be allowed, for such egotistical people to be so beautiful or so charming. You are the proof that if God does exist, he’s not a kind, loving God, but an asshole, because why else would he create someone as dangerous as you? Someone so efficiently destructive and persuasive, so unforgivably attractive and cunning? I bet you could make murder seem deeply romantic.

No, I know you could.

…I don’t agree with anything you believe in.

I don’t support a single thing you want to change in this world.

You’re a menace and a threat; you’re the most bigoted, irrational, infuriating person I have ever come across… and I have come across a lot of bigoted, irrational, infuriating people.

…But none who were suffocating.

Across the room, a single stare, a soft laugh. One tiny smile, and my breath is stolen as quickly as though the blade’s been dropped and cut clean through my neck –  your laughter, the executioner.

At least my murder will be deeply romantic.

 

 

 

 

 

Rainbow

You are the rainbow after the storm.

You are a reality and a fantasy, you are the result of water and logic and a child’s wistful imagination. You inspire dreams and fiction, you cause people to stop and stare –  to forget the torrid winds and lightning strikes that just tore their worlds apart.

I do everything for you.

I chase your spectrum for a gilded promise, only for you to vanish before I ever come close. I hunt storms and stand in the rain, waiting for the moment when the clouds will clear and you might expose yourself again.

Sometimes, you do.

Sometimes, you don’t.

I still chase, I still hunt.

I still stand in the rain.