You mark me like dew on a brisk morning, as evidence left from heated slumber.

My heart breaks with each and every contraction of your supple chest,

the delicate metal chain draped around your neck mocking the red stream within you,

floating with every inhale and falling with every exhale as confirmation that pieces of you are constantly dying..

numb is my heart as it falls to my feet

the pieces finding their ways into the cracks of the floor boards

attempting to hide themselves from the truth of my bloody hell

my brain skips beats filling the gaps in the sentences of my heartbeat.

a shrug of the shoulders and everything crumbles to shit

inhibitions fall at my feet like rogue waves of emotion

attempting to wring out insecurity from my being.

blood flows slowing, riding the wave of the breeze

gently billowing through your open window

emphasizing the space between us

whisking it’s calm force through you slowly with each shuddering inhale,

exhaling reconfirmed shore bound shit into my head

we sit, face to face, toe to toe, silently recalling the dream we once knew as reality.

sobs alternate from one to the other 

like hand and foot on ladder climbing far into uncomfortable territory

scratching at a masked calling, missed calls from my heart to my head

leave palpitations of memories, carrying me to numbness surrounded by black sea.

black flows like thick paint down your rounded cheeks, 

injected with the color of fallen paeonia petals on your kitchen table

finishing sentences with full names

as if we are patients checking in to a gilded asylum

licking our lips to force the medication down

numbing numbness was never supposed to be prescribed. 

.. as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

— Pablo Neruda