Wednesday, January 5, 2011

♥ les grands amours n'ont plus d'adresse ♥

If there ever was such a thing called “luck”, it has slept endless nights by my side. The luck of having found love at such tender age, every night in which his waves ebb and flow through, lulling me to sleep and leaving me. The caramel colour of his skin between my swan legs, as long as he calls my name and caresses my face as he kisses me, I shall stay put like a sphinx wearing a crown of flowers, I’ll eat and sleep whenever I have seconds to spare. If he sings to me, if he holds and beholds in my name, if he steals my tears, if he slips and slides inside me, if he puts his fingers in my mouth to claim me as discovered land, if he can paralyze me with a whisper, if he loves me and loves me and throws me in bed and turns my body into a field of poppies drenched in his blood, then I’ve been the luckiest blossom to have found out that amongst his darkness, there is still time and space for love, a love that threatens to devour me alive. (and oh isn’t the boy dark with moodswings a plenty, war wounds and ghosts for friends).

What were the odds? How many strangers get lost in crowds of faceless cities.? How many diserted lovers? Amidst all the sorrow he shields, he has found a place to hold all this passion for me, a moment to breathe me in, aglow and nude. I’ve become the wine he drinks, the books he reads, the fears he hides, I’ve become him because love has crushed me into him. Love has made flames of me.
I must learn to stay still, stop running out of sheer fear, I must find a way to endure the pain of not having him all to myself (if I could, I would kill him and make a furcoat out of his skin so no one else could ever touch him, I would drink his blood & sleep over his bones). I must remember that real treasures can never be owned and that love hurts quite a lot more than sheltering loneliness.

There once was a time where love loved me too,

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