On the transience of self love
I deserve more than a love that returns
In fact, I dream of one that lingers.
A love for the thrum
of a heart
That splutters, quickens, dances within my chest
Plants seeds along
the curves of each rib
And soaks my limbs until they bloom around my lungs.
A love that
transcends flesh and bone
And pours sunlight through my veins like honey
That trickles and dribbles like gentle rain
Rumbles like rolling thunder nestled in a grey sky.
A love that fears and desires without waning
That blossoms into blood and into art
Quivers and bleeds like wine stains among clouds
And finds home in the warmest folds of my skin.
Because before I am pretty,
I am everything but and more.