Feral Children

I once knew a man who could not stand silence
his eyes carrying the spleen of the sea.

He was no poet, yet one of the most incredible metaphors made human,
I've ever met.

And you're lying on the bed, love.
You are lying on the bed and I'm staring at the ceiling
(I am not alone, though)
thinking I am a nomad: no home, the forest...
us hunting each other.

Your breathing enters through my veins,
and our insides arousing
like feral children.
You should know, I've never been more scared in my life
I never wanted to die stuck under anyone's weight
until now.

It's late,
and your feet tangled around me
your last kisses still echoing through my lips

If I had the chance,
I'd choose times like this
I'd expand this curious feeling of falling,
shattering
(more than the mundane rest)



Tonight you are [my] loneliness
Tonight you are soothing blue.