& so we held each other almost holy
in that perfect shade of morning.
Where the sun rose and shifted while your
body was some stoned covered god with
hands like white noise shuddering over
Wet with anticipation, your lips were
roses only I could force to bloom.
And i had never thought falling in love could be
so reckless. That i could sit beside you with my shadow
clinging onto your arms for comfort, my hands stretching
out were really branches of silk across your shoulder blade.
Comforting, like words never needing to be uttered.
And so senseless became the senses.
The weight of you became my favourite type of heavy-
Lifting the clouds, you could kiss me prosperous-
turn me into something resembling godhood and oh Darling -
what i couldn't give you was everything I felt too
damaged to give -
I am a gift who thanks god for hating herself solely because
there was a single part left of me to still hate,
to blaze - forward - into surrender.
And oh, there is a certain high in being loved in some wayward space,
by someone whose skin was actually touchable, whose heart was heavy
enough to feel weighted down by.
So still, we became ghosts of each others art -
your hair is stretched out restlessly in the lines of my favourite poem -
The colour of my eyes, staggered across every shade of blue you paint.
and they ask me if I am happy -
But the storm has not yet subsided, just turned into
some dimly lit lace traced over the sky:
but i suppose it helps to say that beside you I had opened up
about my drowning,
yet you make me feel as though I had been baptised.
and is that not love?
Is that not some form of holy ?