i'll never be this honest again.

i am forever sewing shut this mouth.

the mouth that so longs to kiss yours.

longs to taste the forbidden wine of your lips.

just once would be enough to satiate this hunger.

this deep fear that goodbye will never truly pass your lips.

your sweet, melancholy lips

like ashen rose petals burning in my mind.

the fear that our farewell will never linger in your mouth,

only scald the back of your throat,

escaping in actions aided by liquor, cheap green leaf

and the fading,

yet so very recent memory of vomit

flavoring your blackened, plagued mouth.

the very mouth that touched hers!

tell me, was it empty?

bodies colliding together,

tongues encircling each other like hungry, rabid wolves,

attacking behind teeth and cheeks,

locked as if doors?

or was it beautiful?

passionate, entwined bodies

filling all of the voids and crevices that kept them apart,

fueled by pure need

and want

and receiving the warmth you so greatly desire?

tell me, love.

i’d like to know.

and i will close these eyes for eternity.

allow them to gaze on you no more.

never again to drink in your features,

sculpted into broken perfection

by a cruel and beautiful hand:

eyes

[the color of mist on a day where you feel

as if you may never see meaning again.

so many times i’ve been lost in those eyes.]

lips

[flushed and cracking,

hiding the rows you had so often flashed my way.

once a smile so heartbreaking,

i thought i could die.

now a grimace,

as if i have become an unappealing morsel

on your plate of beauties.]

body

[so lithe, yet strong,

appearing to need another to give life

to its frail and somehow imposing frame.

how often i’d long to be held by those arms;

pressed tight against your body

so lean and translucent.]

but no more shall i want this.

to so greedily stare unashamedly

at the sheer loveliness you present,

it does not matter;

i have already memorized you.

and no more will i ever begin to remember.

i will not allow the memory

of a time much more perfect than the present.

not once more will a thought of how we so childishly

flung about the words

fate

and affection.

never of love, of course,

for despite what the cynical and hopeless say,

love does not crumble like the empires of men,

so weak and powerless against time.

love is able to withstand the ages,

and yet i still allowed my unfortunate,

naïve mind to believe.

how wrong i was to put my faith

in such a flighty creature.

for that is all you are to me.

all you shall ever be.

just a beautiful bid

who never let me clip its wings.