IdeaEngineer

Me – Keep thinking the way you've been thinking. I'm starting to fall for you in a new way because of it. Her – I will make you fall in love with me for the rest of your life.

Trust me with God’s girl, Papi’s girl, Mami’s girl. Take me back to the start and tell me what she needs. All that no other boy treasured, I will pay my greatest pleasures to hold dear. I will treat you like I wish you’d always been, as I struggle but strive to uphold your church girl conscience. She needs to run her course. She needs to have her way with me. Test me with the purity you never lost, guilt and shame as evidence. Lay with me and pray with me and teach me God’s will. Kiss me, hold my hand and tell me what he says we cannot do.

I am a man, dirty with idealization, sinning against our love in your unattainable state, making you in your absence, a goddess, not a girl. Just know you often cross that line between human and heaven, Amour and angel. I lust and forget if you’re my deity or my darling— the unforgiveable version of perfection, or the girl who from day one I loved, dark past and all.

Feel in my haunches, the strength it takes to trek with my wants through our months apart. Care for me. Pity my groan and the agony bulging in my veins of circumscription. Let embed slowly into tenderness my tense tortured muscle. Pain and exhaustion will play for your ear while I sink in soft wet brackets. Pout for me now as always, with lips out, and brow furled. Respite after respite is to come, but you are compassionate, to disobey and put me out of my misery, overcoming me with passion in the moment of my wide eyed forbearance.

I relish your calls to the earthquake. Wall – ceiling – bed – wall, all oscillate like machinery. Planes lurch planes as my tremor finds your beauty in this prismatic construct. You advertise a kiss in this apartment of my seisms. Your tongue and teeth befriend turbulence. Nature has found you within my earthly force, lying limp with lips pursed, brow furled, pouting out loud while your bones shake at your will. Downward you tug on the precarious ceiling. Supports concede and your ribcage is loaded by my love. I relish your need to be swallowed by my rubble— kissed and kin with your vice of calamity— loved by the

We love and time slows down. What does it mean for us, that the hours bow to our combination— that we have the power to steal a six month year? Time is a measure of events converted to memory or oblivion. Our coupled souls tip the scales of these forces, as more of life, too precious to forget, stacks on memory’s portion. Thus, in retrospect, we’ve lived more. By the density of our recollections, we met a summer ago. These young but mortal minds now hoard time like the commodity our love has made it, slowing down when minds connect, eyes connect, lips connect, hips connect. Stress which wanes us fades and our depth adds dura

This is the hour for love, an occasion by way of your presence. Monthly grids notify while ticking hands point, but your index is the first digit, progressed from notification, to interlocked unity with my own. Near is the beautiful basis by which I lay claim to this day’s full potential. Today is an occasion in sequence with a grid of days you bless, so that this day is a holiday among holidays, defined not by time, and only by you here with me, our love allowed its reign.