the last time I thought
that singularity
is my only truth,
you walked into my life
smelling like an expensive perfume,
trying to cover the smell of cigarettes
that you had stubbed
in tbe cracks od your heart.
after 11 hours of knowing
and some pegs of whiskey
you showed me few of the wounds
that your past left you,
all the skin
that you had been missing,
and i thought
if i could band-aid words on them,
if icould lend you
some of my skin.
we almost kissed
almost a million times that night;
the proximity of our lips,
our heartbeats that raced in sync,
killing me a million times over, telling me that it is death
that makes one feel alive.
our lips,
they'd always come close enough
for me to get drunk
on the whiskey in your breath,
but never touched,
burning urge inside me
till i exploded into confetti.
the moon cried that night
and covered itself under a veil of clouds,
accusing us
of staling his thunder
beacuse that night
it was us
who were the semantics of love.
when our lips finally met,
it was dawn,
you looked at me and said
that your heart was a house
haunted by the ghost of self hate
and that i had played the exorcist.
i have never understood love
or the sorcery of it,
why about the hurt of some
i am little bothered,
while for you,
i would gift,
wrapped in golden paper,
an eternity of ease.
i have never understood love
or the poetry of it,
but to heal you,
i could sacrifice all my skin,
i would sacrifice all my skin.
©shru
S