look through that summer drizzle, that's what this love is, he says
I look over his strong arms and marvel at the strong darkness of them in the dawn light
you see, in the comfort of wings- we consult strength
sometimes I didn't even know it myself that I could get hurt and not raise my voice because I was afraid to leave, I start
But nothing teaches you how to leave
like pain does-
But if there sits no love, communication is not the fire.
Pain teaches you how to forgive in tears.
He sniffs through my afro puffs; his eyes dazzle in the growing sunlight and his face lights up- I adore his black smile, with his black lips
you needed to ask for those things you wanted, dearly without actually living in an Utopian state, he says
I needed to ask for respect, I add
Yes, he agrees
I needed to ask for that magnitudinal love-because I gave it out so wholy. I gave it to everyone.
Love, he grabs a lock of my hair twisting it around his index finger, is delicately comfortable in a delusion-reality manner.
I agree, I tell him.
And sometimes you lie to yourself that- that delusion-reality will be outlived.
I can't believe I don't think of this, I muse.
No rules needed- my soul and yours connected- that's why we're here staring down the sunset / marvelling.
And that's why you are telling me what you want- that's why we are having a consensual discussion of a meeting of the minds- because we love each other, we must communicate. But if there sits no love, communication is not the fire.