I see poetry in your eyes when the sun traces her fingertips over your face.
I envy her ability to caress so much of your skin at once when you turn your face towards her.
Almost imperceivable lines of hardship vanish, leaving you awash with the innocence of a boy who suffers in the grasp of Aphrodite.
You thought me foolish for falling in love with your eyes first.
But how do I resist being drawn into hazel-hued oceans so irresistibly deep, that I make peace with your waters choking my lungs if it means keeping a piece of you within me for eternity?
I find you in the poetry of lovers.
I find you in the fierce auburn of the rising sun
demanding to be felt before it is seen.
I find traces of you within the strands of my hair.
But above all, I find you
In the glimmer of my eyes
when they shine at the sound of your name.
In the essence of the blooming spring.
In the empty space
between my fingertips.
Do you really think God will forgive me for the blood on my hands, even if my soul was free? I’m going to hell no matter what happens. Let me have my pathetic hopeless love while I can. Just – let me pretend it will turn out all right.