There are two opposing things that define me: a poignant in eulogy, a melancholia in a deep blue sky and
a parallel and current;
it is boundless.

My love is an empty cage, grown in an innocent body, tearing flesh by flesh,
yearning mouth by mouth, a chest is a garden full of butterflies, my veins is a vial of momentary currents and curves molded to each caresses of something that lingers.

These parallels are a loose thread that bounds a brokenness, and on each pull of the gravity, I would ache to skin and bone.

                                        It is boundless.