I have felt insanity in depths and breadth, but you do not feel like insanity. You feel like home, wrapped in mystery, tied in insanity. I know how to tell the difference. You have that something that I would chase down a rabbit hole just to find who I am. Travel the ends of the earth just to realize that the eclipse is coming and we are unprepared to answer for our sins. The enigma, the riddle, the unanswered question, I would twiddle my thumbs to try and answer, only to realize there is no answer. There is only to bask in the now-covered sun and watch as sunlight fractals and shatters across the darkness of your features. The warmth is cooler, and so is your demeanor, I now know why people are afraid. Terrified of the beauty in resurrection, the dead, reborn. Blood and blush returned to the body and faces that once were faceless. I have now seen the beauty and birth of the old born. Reiterate the lives that once were into something new. Black strands to graying hands we lose and love in the same bated breath. Cherry-flavored cherries of cigars are black and mild. Smoke-filled lungs and gasped breaths, racing to reach our now black-hearted soul. Until you meet the power of the one who leans back and shudders at the mention of glory and glorious things. I have felt insanity, from the depths and great heights, the newborn and those born of old, but never have I felt a buzz or high as the wings of Icarus falling. You, my love, are the glory of the new sun’s burning.

You live in infamy in my mind.

Your hands have a magic about them. What they create is candid and morbid in the best and worst of ways. In ways, it’s damning to wish for. Your hands grip the pen like the sand grips the sea, impossible yet happening perpetually. Oh, to be a pen. I would document any sordid story you could ever write. Listen to the twitching of unwritten irritation. Walk across the pages on your desk of unmade plans. Leaving inkwells of blood across parchment to hope and to gather what plans were shattered. Now, oceans of smooth glass carry the fresh glide of birds in the waters above. In the waters below carry the love of merfolk seducing those of us who are unafraid to enter the depths of the frozen froth of the salty sea. Sinking deep into the depths of the mouth of God waiting to be delivered from the belly of the beast akin to Jonah. My mind is racing as the blessing is fulfilled, the pen cap closed.

***

I want the one who makes my blood run cold and then heat back up again. As if I’m a liquid in a beaker and I’m on a chemist’s stand. I want to surrender to the god-like power that is love and loving. I may never know it, but I can hope that it’s real, like sins righted by an impossible care. I realize that there is nothing that can keep me from this love. Not even the powers that be could keep me from this. The sweet torment of life’s polarity is tearing me apart. Love’s gentle touch putting me back together again. The opposites manifest into unity under my skin.

I want to be recognised for the things I left behind.

***

I can’t see you with my mind’s eye anymore. It’s been so long since I’ve last heard or seen of you.  Sometimes I wish never to have met your deep, dead eyes. The last spark of life existed long before the first thing to have breath. It’s as if the darkness calls to me from virality to veriditas. My living green to your dead things, the existence of opposites together for a moment of love and perfect unity. Your eyes are hunting in mine, scoping from pupil to iris for weakness, you find none. Just as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. The life I saw in those dead eyes was just a trick and I was a willing fool. String me up by my ankles and showcase my naïveté. The pureness of my heart was no match for the deadness of yours. Yet, still, you leave me breathless.

***

Did you kill my soul so completely as to bring my heart back to life? The longing goes as deep as to my antipode. There is but one who knows that depth yet none who knows him. All share but one kiss of his lips, but I alone know of his touch and his breath tasting my own. They are of languid cold heat, enough for a babe to bathe and my heart to reluctantly sing its song. Disharmony is beauty that fell on deaf ears. The melody of redemption and judgment in the same choking breath. If stiff as a board could be straighter, that is what I am, full of fright and fear that I will not be able to fall out of love with you. Again, I am starstruck.