now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon. oh, to have prose dictate my greatest desire and weakest fear, and by weakest i mean it hangs loosely in my ribcage so nobody knows how much i fear true love’s kiss. there have been so many times i have known the tightness in the air was not my home yet i stayed, took it over the truth in the moment. am i afraid of the truth? or just the pain hurtling after it, following it like a shadow?






















