bald

im not bald but i am

[santastarchicken]

either you die with the regret of not soaring your wings or die with the warmth of your dreams

[santastarchicken]

was it casual when we danced in the kitchen, our favourite musical blaring through the speaker as the unwashed dishes and unfolded laundry watched us gaze into each other’s eyes and hold ourselves back from holding one another too gently

[santastarchicken]

if i die, glide me down the ocean and let it take me. i want them to know the love i had for you, let them discover the fragments you left in my skin and organs. let them thrive and live beautifully with my body that is a shrine only for you.

[santastarchicken]

and then we danced in the kitchen, to the living room, stepping, spinning on the unfolded laundry clothes—the christmas lights glowing softly as the music pulled our body closer. then what? what do i do with the love i have for you? spilling shamelessly at every step, every glance, every heartbeat. what then?

[santastarchicken]

how i wish we could go back to the times we held each other until the sun rises

[santastarchicken]

our souls and hearts are calling onto one another, yet our minds and body pull us apart

[santastarchicken]

and i’d let you consume and haunt my being, for as long as you stay alive in my soul

[santastarchicken]

there is nothing else to say. i fell in love with you and you are my friend.

[santastarchicken]

in every language, i love you

[santastarchicken]

i can’t look at you without love now, my eyes find you everywhere

[santastarchicken]

i could drown in your eyes and hold you tight under the moonlight

[santastarchicken]

there is nothing else to say. i fell in love with you and you are my friend.

[santastarchicken]

i will wear my teeth down and whimper like a dog for you to love me

[santastarchicken]

and if you are the sun, i am willing to be burned by you

[santastarchicken]

maybe we are made to be destroyed

[santastarchicken]

you smell like the rays of the sun glowing through the stained glass, the small stickers across the cabinets—and the lines and curves of the wood that builds your home

[santastarchicken]

and soon your face pressed against the soft curve of my neck, fingers intertwined, you are my home