Us
I was always told blood runs thicker than water.
But when you held my hand, I felt what blood has never given me.
Love.
They say it's wrong.
Unnatural, demonic, perverted.
But in my eyes,
If the church calls what this is demonic,
I see why they bow their heads for the end times.
For if love is demonic, perverted,
I too, would await the headsmen.
My being laid bare for the death of myself.
For heaven is a plane of pleasure
And in your hand,
I feel I see heaven.
Your face, the light warm against my neck.
Your laugh, my golden gate.
I will charter on,
Regale you as your soldier.
For the goodest of books leave out one story.
The story of us.
The story of me and of you.
Him and him.
His and his.
And it is the most holy of script I could write.
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