my secret message.

do u know the tale of which this speaks?
a love story of every poet's magic tragic.
of that moment the painter's colours peaks!
in etching a promise only we can seek.

the truth is; to inhale you into my lungs,
feels to be a stain of something greater,
to inkblotting myself a disappearance.
and as such and even then,
to feel like a thousand funerals mourned
and yet to feel my life come around again
and again.
and sometimes... again.
and as such and even then,
to still be filled with broken stars
and such is where perfect weakness lies,
yes. and as such and even then
of course i remember us.
and will forever will too.
when we exhale pink balloons against those blurry skies,
we are accepting engraved confusions ribbon scars
to be just misplaced vacant murky stars.

but sometimes, ocassionally,
at times more frequently than not,
when gasoline rainbows crash, then burn
(crash then burns those pots of gold!)
but, oh! we wonder!
but oh we wonder what simple human err tis' be
vacillating on each gentle brushstrokes given,
we absolve with one daffodil each for the you and me.
it was habitual, what can i say?
forsake just something i'd do any day

when it feels like eyelids cannot leave you be
and so blood in veins so scream and shout
no speck of light for sanity but us,
we breathe new shadows,
of no longer empty lips
to kiss as more than our picture show
drawn from the bottom of my heart
in that night and forever
until tomorrow right from the start ...

.