her desires are to be written about. placing cheeks on grass, the violent urge to not have regrets, clicking wild horses running, sprinting with trees and, entering a new dimension, from under the water body.
her needs are embeciles' needs, and she loves this bit the most.
a part of night in his hair, scattered sunrises in his freckles. maps of worlds and spaces, his eyes set in between. and of all people, of them all, really, he tells me, he loves waking up besides me.
it's some days past march, ive been breathing for some decades but at 4:06 pm today, i felt alive, after a very long time. almost felt like the first. and, it's not so bad.
i rest his head to my bossom. he cries. my lover cries. my rib cage drinks his tears. he cries. my lover cries. i rub his back, kiss his hair. tighten fingers over his shoulder. he looks me in my eyes, then on my lips, eyes again, now lips. i hold his lips. with my lips. his tears touch the mole above my lip. he cries. my lover cries.