…..what I’m thinking. 
I’d like to leave a stain on your mouth and feel your body rise. 

If I could draw a line. I’d draw it from your toes to your mouth while I focus on your eyes. Highlighting every vein, every curve, every muscle.  

It starts in your mind and moves through your soul. You know that a replacement could never make you whole. The craving isn’t about the satisfaction or the means to an end, it’s about the desire, the drive, the emotional depths you’d go through to reach it. 

And once you reach it, you understand why you need it. 

(One of those days when I feel like the luckiest person alive. When I refuse to let everything that’s bad leave a stain on what’s beautiful)

I find constant inspiration in his eyes. How thoughtful he becomes just soaking up the silence. How at ease his heart is with just being, his mind.

His presence like a drug instantly heightening all of my senses. This kaleidoscope of colours that he brings to my world, his beauty.

I’m the bravest of warriors because he’s on my side. His heart takes bullets on my behalf and turns them into doves, his love.

I’m insatiable for him. Relentlessly craving his touch. He gives passion meaning, he takes lust and turns it into something spiritual, his sensuality.

Every fibre of my being loves every sinew of him, eyeballs to entrails, ceaselessly.

Took a boat out on the water to escape the endless hum. Looking to a new horizon for the person I’ve become. 
Every battle that I go through, leaves its scar upon my soul. The coldest of shoulders that I lean on and I’m feeling less than whole. 

Is there such a thing as certainty something more than here and now? A place where words we’ve spoken remain reality somehow. 

Rare Sunday morning quiet and still, just the rain’s rhythmic tapping on my windowsill. 

I like how his clothes cling to his curves in the rain. Not quite transparent, but somehow more appealing than the obvious. 
I could fill pages from memory just describing how his skin feels. How he fills my senses even now. I like that I’m still discovering this. 

Destination detoured, objective unchanged. Peace, warmth, shelter, perhaps solace, but definitely determination. 

You can’t be prepared for the decisions of others. You can’t be expected to deal with what’s thrown at you. Some people have switches, others would rather go through hell than just turn off. 

Coldness is a choice. The wrong choice. So as hostility builds and resentment does its best to become your master remember what brought you here. 

I hate sitting on chairs where my feet don’t reach the ground, where I have to shift forward to make that contact. 

I hate the cold that numbs my fingertips, never my fingers just the tips. I always place them on my ribs just to check how cold they are.

I hate coffee that isn’t sweet enough. Lukewarm showers and boots that rub my ankles. 
I hate running out of things to say. Awkward silences. Hollow promises. Flowers that wilt on their second day. 

I hate remote controls, channel hoppers. Television as background noise. Capitalism, war, greed. Shallowness and snobbery.

I hate running for the bus. Forgetting all the things I should have said. When time stands still….it’s always at the wrong time. 

Hate is probably too strong a word, but you know what I mean. 

Fill the room with the blue flicker and the flame. Fill the room with anything that stops the pain. All the pictures on your wall don’t mean anything at all and happiness was just a foolish claim. 

All the things you said with certainty are no longer the things I see. The thrill of the chase yes you won the race, but there’s still a void where the warmth used to be. 

Is it cold there? 

Flick through the catalogue of things, see how they sparkle just like rings. One size fits all when you nail them to the wall, but at least the sun will never melt your wings.