Excerpts from a love circus

And within the collapse of your own heart, you'll be greeted by the song of the sirens as you sink further. This is your home, your final resting place, and the final farewell to your life long letter.

The warmth of the sun, the sweetness of her skin, the dark lust of the ash that follows in pursuit of each memory preserved: These are the things I hold as my own.

Her pretty Monroe smile, the scent of vanilla wafting from her bode, the playfulness of the gaze that envelops every fiber of my being: These are the things I take for granted.

The gentle softness of her hands down my chest, the intoxicating bite of her cherry plumbago lips, the life we breathe into each other with every gasp shared across the hours: These are things I have lost.

The soot at the bottom of the bed, the ash strewn across the sheets in all that could have been, and your image a fading frame in this house no longer our own: These are the things I am left with.