What good are shivers? What use is to weep? Throwing a few sighs in between sleeps.
Like tides, this trouble rises and recedes. In hopes of seeing shadows without a doubt, without the sun. Drowning in oblivion, save your affection, bar none. This feels almost too quiet an existence, too graceful an exit. Am I a galaxy now their eyes can see? Or a mere dust fallen from sullen skies for veiled eyes before me?
I yearn to glide across your vein so expansive like frozen webs of fractured stars limping on shores. I will find comfort in their foreign skins; skins that burn next to my cold. Wherein night is just a failed conviction for a world that unearths only light. Light that bends so vivid we are only left to preach in blindness of being and darkness of knowing.
You used to teach me different shades of white. I am going to have to hold your words against you. For forgiveness comes in flowers. Frail white flowers that slither my chest that pillows my spines that longs for your palms. Palms when held in nearness, look most beautiful. Much like a nest within your ribcage and knuckles that crack a slight familiarity of nostalgia, resting amongst the ridges of your collarbones. Bones that compact like soil on impact that floats like a feather.
Sin is a regrettable word. Seen is just as foolish. For it was never where the lines meet but where the heart is. I’ve learnt to grow fonder of this invitation to love, this chance at leaving, this coming to terms with leaving. That exit is a letter away from exist; A part, just a space away from apart. I vow to be the relentless dust twirling in tandem with the win. To show up, so certain, whispering in kindred with the warmth of your sand. And I too, have grown to have lips married to Your Name, but when will I ever be ready to see Your Face?