disparate love.

… a being in direct conflict with your
own existence; to house the most
tender thoughts, a penchant to steal
kisses when least expected, practiced
apathy, and a certain cruelty in one
body is synonymous with hurt.

at the best of times: your love eclipses
all. you have a way about you that is
inherently comforting; like an old soul
in a young body, knowing the ropes
to life. quelling storms with a practiced
hand, like ousting a burning candle with
a single, gentle wave of the hand. i find
more rest on your shoulders than on
pillows – this is what I mean, it’s easy
to get lost in this.

at the worst of times – most of the times,
one never knows till they’re in the thick
of it, beset by your cruelty. you’ve put into
perspective how one can truly feel alone
when surrounded by people – you set sail
for remote lands when your chew on words
and shorten your responses. i wake anxiously
to your scorned face, i mine myself for the
right combination of words to apologize
(for whatever it is you think I’ve done)
but it only festers more wounds.

i’ve spilt gunpowder & house deadwoods,
you - with the incendiary tongue;
we’re volatile.