Burning poetry and my cheap camera lenses capturing our summer smiles because the words in the notebook can't quite describe what immortality feels like. Your voice sounds like innocence and a spring movie dream. It seems like infinity. This is all the art I need.
There's a top-class margarita in your hands and expensive caviar in your smile. Flashes of paparazzi lights greet your newly magazine face. I can almost read the headlines already. You have become the advertise God of frivolity. Your black hair has grown back. You look the same but you are different. There's arrogance in your voice and empty fame in your eyes. I am the heartbreak of the movie. This is (the end.)
Sun-kissed cheeks and scent of tint products flare through my nostrils as you open the door. You look different. There's peroxide in your hair & Hollywood dreams in your eyes. Your opalescent smile reminds me of cameo simplicity. You hug me with your paper skin as I trace lines in it with my calligraphic fingers. We look like a worthy gallery work snapshot. And in that moment we are poetry.
Blue waves and salt-scented hopes hit my face. Our backs are pressed against the sand. I always wanted to see the beach. There's California sun in your smile and oceanic tranquility in your voice. Black roots are starting to reveal in the blonde hair. The wind carries the smell of after-sex & untouchable happiness back to the sea. And in that moment you are all the poems I couldn't write & I'm all the roles you couldn't play. & all I can see are the sunset stripes through your eyes. And this is love.
This is love
This is love