Candy Apples. Tranquility.

Your lips tasted of candy apples after I kissed them,
as if the sweetness of your spirit was spilling from within,
searching for sanctuary somewhere inside of me,
and for the first time, finally, I was open.
I was a weary wanderer in a desolate desert and you were a mirage.
I made my home in a moment of nirvana,
and I decided that I would cut off my legs,
so that I’d have an excuse to stay the night.

I decided that I wanted to hold you for as long as I used to hold a grudge,
hoping that the peace you impart on my soul would thaw the thoughts that kept me prisoner.

I wanted be ether in the air.
I wanted to ask you, with no hesitation, to breathe me in,
let me be deep within your skin like the rapturous rain of April showers and how they cling to you, long after we are inside and dry.

Your blue eyes, royal as your blood, burned right through me,
and I wanted you to spill across my slain body, until she was new and alive again,
I wanted you to show me how to breathe without it feeling like an obligation,
I wanted you to introduce me to tomorrow, your slender hand sleeping on my naked shoulder as your phone cried for attention on the bedside table,
and you grumble, just a little as you struggle from slumber and answer it, while wading through the pile of clothes below us to find your sports bra.
I wanted you to remind me of how content the moon looked as she watched us fall asleep every evening,
with her lovesick eyes and her hopeless hopes for the two of us.

I just… kissed you, again, and you tasted like tranquility.

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