i have seen unnatural disasters in the most beautiful sighs, bleed them into mason jars to catch the sunlight as it ripples through the trees, to use as watercolors down the curve of her surrender in broad strokes

She’d watch the trembling in his eyes, felt the isolation fall from his fingertips as the grey scale of her repose turned into a kaleidoscope of twisted stars.

every seaside vista or mountain range sketched in gentle repose upon her reclined divinity became a surrealistic journey into a raw dimension of devotion to craft, to passion, to the singular focus of every inch of her blossoming into a tertiary perfection squared

A masked indentation of quills and ink pools pulled the sea scents from her hair into the poems etched across her stomach while his moody evaporations clung to her like an addiction, reminding her of all the things she could do with her mouth

in her introspection lies the keys to heaven, buried in swirls of colors cast by uncertainties in subtle hints of the hell in her eyes, i long to taste her every secret, my every cell screams for this completion, the line between art and reality fluid like the barrier between pain and pleasure

It’s a monetized insanity crushed under his armor made of stale smoke and other winter smells from last year then resurrected in the crosswinds. It’s her lips crawling into the voice he never had.

EC is my compass, always leading to poetic bliss