Vintage Swallow !

It’s been a while since I breathed with my words and to be precise with you. Wandered off like drift wood in the pacific of your thoughts. I swear I thought that this time I would not break but now I’m feasted upon by the idea of you like a food in front of a hungry shark and I offer myself to you again with a heart even more you own. It’s really hard to close the door that you’ve fought to keep open before. The dream that beget from the air that holds the fragrance of yours or the marks of your lips that you left on the glass while drinking water, finds you in everything that you have once touched or made a part of somehow.

Every word written here has traces of origin back to you, because you have had a way with my head. I’m not going to deny that I was not aware of your beauty. But the point is my words has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you I realize beauty was least of your qualities. You instills grace in every common things and divinity in every careless gesture, that easy smile that slip past your lips quickens my heart and catches in my throat, your introspective pose looks like wonder and those beautiful pair of eyes are like fall. You would never see what I’ve seen. The way the gold strands encircle the iris of yours because the thread of Aurelian is small enough to only be visible up close and if you haven’t seen the gold you haven’t seen the auburn either. Those beautiful reddish flecks that shine through your eyes like piece of glass on a Mandela. You just see the brown while looking at your eye while the first thing that comes to my mind while looking at your eyes is brown chocolate or to be fancier chestnut, I see the sepia as the golden rays light when you look at me, your eyes go henna when you looks in the mirror and start complaining about your hair, the shining ochre go fade when you are upset, the burnt sienna, the amber filled cinnamon and the way your eyes look like the leaves surrounding the darkened backdrop of a softened tree. You haven’t seen the fall I guarantee you, you haven’t seen it at all.

Submerging once again into the deep pools of solitude I again scratched word after word for you as if you have settled into the sedimentary of my spinal fluid. Ah! What another fine mess I have got myself into. I wish I knew how to quit you because despite quite wrestle I’m tangled up in you, and somehow find you and I collide, because your soul speak in ways your tongue does not know yet. You pierce my soul, half agony, half hope. Come over we’ll bake cookies together in the kitchen. I’ll paint a white down your nose and twirl with flour around the plywood wood floor beneath our feet. I want to memorize the mess we could make and lying on the floor with flour in our hair. But only if my silly words woven into a tapestry of meaningless color means something to someone like you when you read this, else give me a lighter I want to burn it down.