"We loved with a love that was more than love." — Edgar Allan Poe
I keep counting the days
until we're finally together
and I know that love is such a fragile
and short-lived thing,
but life is too.
I keep matching the color of the stars
to the back of your hands
and I know that bruises and scars
make for a better story,
but I keep my thoughts of you to myself.
They say that when you're in love
you want to share that someone with the world—
me?
I want to share my inner workings with you,
the immense galaxy that people have
inside of the brain
that connects to the soul and beats through the heart.
I want to share that art with you.
When my blood gets pumped into a messy spill,
I want to spell your name into something irresistible.
When my soul snaps into two
and I hand half over to you,
I want your essence to surround me.
When my brain tracks my train of thought
to where I last felt okay,
I want to numb my pain away with sweeter days—
can you be that for me?
Much less like medication and
more like meditation.
Be the frequency that I can tune to.
Be the love that I can love into.
I know that life is short and love is even shorter—
so if we're really going to do this,
let's make this love a worthwhile one.
I think my body wants to be next to yours.
Whenever we go from there,
I'll be ready for it.
YOU ARE READING
memento mori // poetry
Poetry" remember that you have to die " memento mori - /məˌmɛntəʊ ˈmɔːri/ noun an object kept as a reminder of the inevitability of death, such as a skull
