love
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I never understood why the world ached so badly for romantic love. Swooning and gushing and cooing over your partner, drowning yourselves in sickly-sweet nothings seemed like a tacky endeavour. Allowing yourself to be known and needed by another was a risk I didn’t want to see the fruits from, no matter the fulfillment it
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What are you most proud of? That I don’t see life as a miserable, gruelling concept. That I don’t see life as something forced onto me. That I still manage to find the light, the crack in the sidewalk to sprout from. How, even through convoluted grief and anger at years lost to trauma and heartbreaks of
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I would break through veins and veils to have your fingertips on mine,on me.I know every ridge and curlicue,where your nail beds meet their tips, and where my skin has reached up to receive them. If not for skin, pleasure would weep and trail so effusively out of me.Every cell and fibre knows no more than
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I bite in,raw, with fervour,it dribbles off my lips and through my fingers.I am unquenchable, insatiable, panting, my hunger, thirst, ripe as a summer’s peach,but it’s a summer’s love that begs to me,sticky on my skin, nestled in my neck. I want a love pure as a newbornand sinful as the dead.My teeth on yours,unable to quell desire.
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I could cry days for you,weeks,years.I could cry you a new calendar,a new generation,a new slice of time in the sky,salty enough,to compensate your sweetness,a place where’d you’d be the revered sovereignty,and would ban my tears for eternity,because you never cease to exist for me,as long as I can cry for you.
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You watch lovers hold hands,but you do not see the subtle thumb caress, the electricity between their shoulders, the stolen glances of knowing among two. You listen to someone speak of their person,seemingly over-the-top professions of love,but you do not hear the song in their head when this person is around,the bells and harmonies, the ringing and pulsating,the
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Solitude is comfort.Sitting inside my heart, knowing it is just me to look out for,has a level of safety, of solace,of relief.I know my requirements and tend to them endlessly. But now there’s you.you.You have a space carved out inside my heart,with flashes of your strong hands and soft eyes,every squeal of joy,the tightness in
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The ideaof men,of manhood,the way it tasted in my mouth,gaggingon my pitiful fortuned future,one where a manwith a hairy chest and no room in it for me,was what to desire,so I learned to choke back my own,believing a life without love,a throat full of thirst,was my white flag. So don’t tell me you always knew,because
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Your presence creates an hourglass of goodbyes,where our first embrace turns it over,and every second, every grain afterwards,brings us closer to the end.
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My love is shelf stable.My heart is best before sealed,for an infinite future. The apparent stagnation is really the exaltation of immortality,the way a feeling can remain at its prime until necessary,the bounty firm against the cheek, waiting. Waiting for an undetermined moment where the seal breaks,where the sand begins to bead down the glass, where you
Lashanda Forsberg 