The mortal extraction of your consciousness.
Each word hums through my blood, the slaps of silvers coaxing the cries of my crimson.
A label of eternity, meandered into the muster of your grime, breathing my bond to life.
The bond of my cease.
The bond of my desire.
The bond of my boon.
The serenity of your essence sprouts my veins; a constant bourgeon to the yield of my being.
I am bound to the tranquillity of your solitude.
Each kiss a desperate gasp for something but the void of my arteries.
Each kiss a piteous offering for something but the eternity of my devotion.
Each kiss an awaited bequest for something other than the relict of my bloodline.
I am yours.
A previous assertion to the testimony of your love.
A current avowal to the testimony of your pledge.
A future declaration to the testimony of your tenure.
Belonging is a concept etched into the dejection of my skin; a belonging embedded within each breath, sending way to the rock of my revolve.
I love you.
Though, three syllables will never be enough to articulate the exploitation of my dread, forever marred within the lines of my shambles.
Yet, even then,
I love you, my moon.
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