The imminent timing of the broken heart

Tick. Tick. Tick.

These moments feel numbing
With each passing breath and bellowing sigh,
A drink in each hand is the only way my heart will understand,
the most treacherous lie of love.

 

Endearing lips, and pictures of thighs, call us towards a crime.
And the liquor calls a static mind and an increasing rush, just jump dear boy, just leap.
Perhaps you’ll fall,
scattered by the loss of love;
With a strong beating heart your mind will say to hell with it all.

 

Your heart may soar, after the calm of it all, oh how it would fly.
Time, time, time, is what takes your mind into the storm.
For this is the love of lost, a regret in not having;
the most incessant of loving
the ache dismembered by time.

A Lover’s Grudge

I’m sending letters to you, with these distant signs delivered by my eyes,
I’m sending letters to you, with these words passing through my lips.
I’m sending letters to you, with these turns of my head as a simple disguise,
And I swear I can’t stop my eyes from staring at your hips.

I’m sending letters to you, by crying out in pain when your gaze leaves my expanse
I’m sending letters to you, by catching your eyes when they stare at mine.
I’m sending letters to you, by monitoring the explicit changes in your stance,
And I swear I could just kiss your lips when they shine.

I’m sending letters to you, for as we leave I do not stray from your side, and
I’m sending letters to you, for all I do is smile when I catch you blushing.
I’m sending letters to you, for when you laughed I felt our hearts coincide,
But in the end you send me nothing.

 

In the end, we leave each other’s wake
In the end, we leave behind the drinks, and the place where stories met.
In the end, we leave the place where we could allow our hearts to break,
and all I wish is for you to agree to what our hearts have mutually set.

In the end, our laughs no longer grace each others ears,
In the end, our hands can no longer touch.
In the end, our minds cannot speak out to one another about our fears,
and for that we will always hold a lovers grudge.

In the end, love is thing that all of this means more,
In the end, love is debunked by simplistic resistance.
In the end, love is what leaves to the aching feeling of remorse,
But we merely chase romantic omniscience.

 

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And we don’t have a car

So the journey seems miles long

And we don’t have a coat

So all forms of warmth must come from our lips.

But honey if you’re patient

The city isn’t far.

Your tongue tastes of berry’s, and my tongue so

ravenously desires such texture.

There we kneel, a coital dwarf in the night
and scare off all the wander into sight.
the neon violence that settles in my blood
idly waits for you to set off a flood.

For my tongue is my messenger and you must receive
this tale prewritten for your lips.
For in my mind I must refrain, the situations I believe
that could so simply lead to me being captured by your hips.

But now we depart, such ailments for emotions conjured in need,

we simply walk the rest of a mile to get a feed.

I so filled with terror, barely acknowledge the importance of what I won.

A simple act of gratification is not annulled, and I find

myself haunted by an eerie air of undone.

 

The pit

 

Where did it go? This inconceivable pain of mine.
The wretched twisting of my gut, whilst my heart pounds in thuds.
I thought it could not leave, that it would remain ringing out my organs thin,
breaking my thoughts into daydream skids. Where would it have gone?
This pain so relevant to the times. The ache of the heart was meant
be infinite.
So why oh darling, do I feel at a loss?
As if ache of loving was always better than not.
For now it is gone, all the pain that came with sun sway;
The aching cavern of my heart seems to be edging away.

Pity me so, anguished and numb.
But allow me once more to feel eyes that gaze over me dumb.
I guess that the deepest passions we miss,
are the ones that sting after bliss.
The passionate ache of the heart that we speak,
and the pain that comes with love I would take any day over the feeling of mere bleak.

Such is the blossom of love

Let’s write about hair, and how it can cascade down a neck, brushing at the shoulders
a subtle whisper at our hearts. It can tangle within our fingers, get stuck in between our lips;
for hair to me is an important part of all of this.

Let’s write about eyes, the acclaimed gateway to love. Such intricacy of colours and patterns
captivating to a complementary pair. Our own little sparkling stars captured and used for capture.
For oh have your eyes captured me, and left me entirely defenceless. These emotions are
cascading over me as your hair does your shoulders, and it’s all because of those eyes.

Let’s write about the laugh, the intricacy of noise. A sound that rings joy through my ears, and a rhythm away from my heart. For when you laugh I know it’s right. For when you laugh I feel it all, I feel a need.
For each time you laugh, I watch your eyes dig deeper into me.

Let’s write about the smile, shall we. For that smiling, the glaring of the teeth, sent my heartbeat
running wild. The smile, that makes your eyes twinkle, that raises a smile from the pits of my stomach.
Raises emotions within me that have been dormant for decades. For that smile always follows your laugh, and tips me over the edge into your trap.

Such is the blossom of love, like the features of a face, Intertwined within your heart and rocks emotions within. Every factor of the desire complimenting each other until a point of pure pleasure. Not like that of fornication, but of the soul.
Your heart will beg for recognition, your hairs will rise off your skin, your eyes will twinkle, and your face will fall to a sandpaper sigh.