In spite of the same tale retold several times,
we do not have to be lovers to be bonded for life.
I crave a deeper knowledge of human intimacy, one which refuses to be reduced to mere romance. But fear and I are woven together in dance. She whispers against my ear that you will not understand. That lies must leave my lips to make you stay.
If you knew how I want to bury my nails
into your flesh
If you knew how I wish to settle
beneath your skin
If you knew how I longed
to make a home out of each rib—
Would you run away?
We are alone in a forest which treats us as small and insignificant. You are telling me that love is fleeting while ignorant of my feelings.
For devotion is a burden which bleeds upon those being worshipped.
Thus your eyes watch me dig my own grave.
You ask me why I want to be buried. I cannot speak. I look at my nails caked with dirt instead.
For I would rather fill my lungs with soil than have you vanish.
As I sink,
I envision it is your soul and not the ground which takes me in. That, it is your tenderness and not the grime which coats my cheek.
I pretend that if just one more lie escapes my mouth—this papery thin thread between us will not snap.