-

-

i do not want to cuddle our love,
wrapping it in my arms like a dying child
with golden curls.

no.

i want to fling it from the rooftops
&see if that motherfucker can
fly.

and i want you to try to catch it.
to stretch out your hands,
fingers spread,
palms open
(like they were,
when you dragged them
upupupupupupup
her thighs,
and ininininininin her - )

- warmth will pool against the concrete
when the blood seeps through.
because you can't catch worth shit,
and they've already got the chalk to
outline.

but i will not let them trace us
in salvation-shining white,

because i can say with certainty
that redemption
is not our color.

-

-

-

a/n: collection.

something different.