guernica

i'm not yet done painting you as something glorious.

you're a masterpiece beneath my fingertips and i shiver, trapped in your ice cube smile that binds me here.
the mona lisa hasn't got anything on y o u, darling, you're a plethora of colours and sounds and ohsoalive.

the adrenaline rush is like nothing before (i promise i'm not addicted to you).

and ohohoh, when you whisper sweet nothings into my ear, they've never meant more than they do now.

you're a starry starry night, a vase of sunflowers, a glorious cypress.
and me, i'm a bit of an accident, a bit of a naked flame; rather catastrophic and destructive.

you're my guernica, poppies blooming, sunshineandsnow. and i'm your — well, honey, i'm your—
nothing.