a time ago, the word ‘blue’ didn’t exist.

there was no line between green grass and the sky,

waves were a shade of dark cherries and red wine.

i think our love is blue.

Like most things essential to life

the love he makes is damaged.

He’s inevitable

and when I do managed to sneak away,

he’s always waiting for me, right outside.

His knuckles graze my cheekbones,

and he leaves honey dripping from the skin at my forehead.

As he fades to somewhere new and leaves me

stranded in the dark,

he reminds me that time follows us as we move.

As he rises we get older,

my skin is left damaged, kissed by his burning lips.

No melody or lyrics can lull him to sleep; for he is

restless with blazing and beaming love.

I feel him on my skin;

he is warm, he burns, and

I need him to truly live.

-silver