His language magicked me
I scraped the feeling off of you standing
still in a black and white suit
a supernova in a crowd of clover
make me sick like the sticks that I’m from
at first I was dumbfounded
but I quickly found my tongue
from chapters two to six I tripped it
watching Venus trap the sun
Your language skinned my soul
With every question answered
pearls formed around the sand
inflamed and alabastered,
he’s imbedded in my hand
Slow jazz still makes me think of you
and a thousand other things; I feel that
when I stopped being beautiful to you you should have
lost your beauty too
His language ignites certain senses
I recognize a bad sign when I see one and
he hasn’t filled your ghostly empty space
with bedtime stories- I realized last night
it’s still the shadow of your palm I’m feeling
The lines and planes of people
are apparent in his skin
I only want to trade it
for something close to being whole again
Your language trusted me
He enchants and doesn’t mean to
electric but doesn’t understand
gave my poor brain a heart attack
the way he wrote it in the sand
and you on your empty island
full of real and beautiful things don’t know
can’t fathom ever being in love again
with a phantom and all of her mountains
Your language still gives me courage
even when I sleep, or burning up
beneath some fury, you are there, my friend
a friend, and the lazy treachery of
circumstance to which we fell victim is, too
I keep steeling myself to lose him
because eventually I will
if I pretend everyone’s the devil
I don’t have to go to Hell
His language doesn’t deserve me
He’s a kind and killer spirit
more beautiful than me
I want him to know all the light that I show him
is the light I’m unable to see
Your language didn’t deserve me

Your language was never like this
My language didn’t deserve you

His language will never be like this