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The simplicity of yearning. It burns softly, like a hand grazing over a candle. A mouth full of sweet nothings to be spilled onto the damp from your tears pillow, alone. To be alone feels so excruciatingly bittersweet, for who doesn’t love their own space. The house empty, discarded of ghosts and all spirits and souls. The backing track playing whatever melody inspires you this month, falling asleep to the buzzing static sound of the late-night television show with guests you’d never heard of. 

 Beaming orange light travels through the open curtains, sunrise comes to you like a gentle kiss on your forehead. When you’re with him, the bottles shatter to the floor, you watch them drop in slow motion. Lay yourself down on the shards and taste the earth, the soil of a graveyard for you believe you will be reborn. 

Strands of hair dancing over face, pull them aside as the morning calls for you. The alarm clock is a ticking time bomb, waiting for the absence of sleep to drive you further into an eternity of rest.  

You replace caresses with a hand clamped around your throat. A sweet teenage dream of desire, virginity intact, a cherry uneaten. Bruised wrists you wear like accessories, secrets dripped into your ears like poison. But I am still infatuated, more so when you show me the seventh wonder of the world. There’s pleasure in pain, even if I had never felt it. 

Conflate our bodies in the early hours, hidden from the sun but the moon sees our dalliance. Deceive your morals for what is an urge not a right. I am the spider, stalking you like prey until you plunge into the spiral of my gossamer. Struck by the innocent ideation of what it means to be a woman, gentle and delicate. I am a force, and you quiver in phobia, beads of sweat dampen my grasp. Pulled apart by heat, run. Sprint from consequences.  

The half shadow of your silhouette haunts the minimal memories I have. Breathe in your gasps for air, I swallow your desperation. She is eternal, and who am I to compare? Architype of an angel, the treasure you seek. 

Pain ripples through me, a tidal wave of yearning. For there is nothing simplistic about the ache, a longing for passion.
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