love idlings

an interlude constructed of love: the flickering crescendo of my affections. my most intrinsic love poem.

to fill in these pages, with odes

and mocking tunes of precious

hours i lost to you and the

thought of you and the

inhabiting of my mind,

trough shattered reflexions

of you. which i questioned,

gazed at in fright:

 

is it love?

like a chirp, unbearably high-pitched.

is it love?

twittering, igniting my changes in agreeableness.

is it love?

making me wish i would never guess.

is it love?

 

and i was never meant to be wrong.

 

is it you?

 

i choke, on lonely latin drafts,

hanging keys and notes on my collarbone,

nevertheless pretending i don't want you to notice.

but i know, it has been what it was, what it is,

grammatically excused of my soliloquies, traveled

on dead-ends, breathed directly into my lungs

and sparking at the mesmerizing speed of light

trough my spinal cord: it is you, whom i love.

 

and something begins when you naively

gives me permission to.

 

it is then.

 

i.  the introduction to useless studies on love

what it is, in one part of number x stanzas.

(never to be known, read, or shared outside

this bluish, slowly fading lines on kindred patterns)

 

to find myself falling in love with

the dazzling bruises, victims and gifts

of the inaccurately measured pressure

you apply onto my flesh, that leaves me

stinging, calling you in awe from the

inside out of your numbered stunts and nestling

on the safety of your lopsided beam

blinding myself by choice, drowning

in blues, allegories of lies

in a parade of twirling dances

dangerously risking my heart, and

putting my trembling body on line,

at the crossfire of a complex and

unintended warfare, for you.

 

descending on your shapes, with injuries

unbidden, a burden of choice, purely and

freely to comment on my love,

and my love and admiration for you,

that is what i always lacked, aplenty,

your hurt imprinted on me, aching,

lasting as long as we do, and learning

from it,

                 but not deciphering the whole

                 missing integrity

                 of missing you

                 when you lay by my side.

 

a lump, a bruised fruit ripped alive,

changing colours by the time of day,

and i stroke with daft fingers the surface

of your swollen threads, of silvery care

and forgiven tissues, drenched

in absolution.

 

is it love?

a chirp, timid loss of the senses to blissful oblivion.

 

answers?

 

it is then, and now, i love you.

suspended in eternity, framing

this moment with drowsy impressions:

i love you one thousand times in the mornings;

throaty, raspy swings of your lukewarm limbs

entangled with elaborated symphonies

of discreet heartbeats, shimmering promises,

mending wounds in between times and spaces,

when i think of giving you the world,

only to make you smile like you used to.

 

dreary ways to explain clichés,

wishing to deal with the coping process

of craving contact, closeness, embracing,

and raw affairs, nightly confessions, to

convey to you, tenderly, what you do

to me, how the pain reverberates and

bounces on and off, from your way

of making me believe i would be able to protect you

have your hand in my pockets, and craft you artwork,

to watch as you give it away, and taste the coins

we owe, owning ourselves to ungentle turn-abouts,

harsh lies and decisive choices. i don't want to live

my life on the 'what i should have said instead', instead

i want to live it alongside yours,

in zest, and never part.

 

(because you are here now, why

would you ever leave? don't let

me give you reasons.) and hear

me out, on what i want the most.

 

love: a plenty ambitious start, need

to possess these beautiful things of you

that mercilessly possess me so frequently.

struggling with ways to originally allow you

entrance into my world, preferably, willingly,

into my thoughts, with caution and flair,

into my heart, pulsing lively and for you,

and for you into my self, that you won't

cease to push forward and bring (it) against

your own. and i learn it, adore it,

cherish the vanishing hope you sink

on the thunder-stormed bottom of my

queerly extroverted stomach.

 

i love you kindly, leisurely and more

than expressible in officially invented words,

it were kisses, enabling motions of twisted morals

and delightful births, now it became a language

of its own accord, on it, enveloping your life with

my tongue, i would wish you were mine, to have

more time than time can allow and

have you - have you

comprehend that my existence is

dawning on itself, being enough, and

complete on satisfaction and righteousness

if you began bleeding on me, and looking inside

your own constricted chest, you will find

what i am searching for and tell me.

 

 

“i love you.” too, to me, and two times,

encore, once more i will spend nights enlightened

by the weight and brightness of your parted lips

tone of your smooth voice, but nothing will replace

the fullness, of having you thrust your heart inside of me.

remains of it on my esophagus, lingering spring

of reminiscent feelings.

to belong to ourselves, and then once again

swear, under natural blows of dim light,

we are lost delving into each other.

consuming, each other. nurturing,

awkward links, falling in place along

those quirky sayings of “i love you.”, 

masked by the loudness of my rusty hums,

eardrums buzzing, exaggerated, “i love you.”

and us (Us/'U's) inside our skulls.

i will make you a heart of beaten bones,

and cry your woes with my eyes,

because i love you, and all time not yours,

will never again be mine.

 

perpetually at home, building gladness

out of all i have, all i took, and all you gave,

as i hope this to be the final beginning,

because i don't think i want it

to have an end.

Author's Note

a secret: i spelled 'i love you' so many times, because i never had it within me to say it. and pray tell, with this i disclose my hymn to his oddities, at last unfairly shared, when circumstances yell his absence.
on another note, thank you much gently for reading, and feedback is, of course, quite appreciated.

Reviews

[SuddenCognito]

Some of it went over my head but from what I understood you have written something amazing :)