the world as a canvas

miles traversed through void
white, black, grey
the same

and it's a tapestry spilling from my fingers
and it's an ocean pooling at my toes
because there is an odyssey at the back of my throat
and it's breaking through my lungs

you're to blame for:
this melodic chaos,
enraged fire,
cursed dance

I could spin a thousand sonnets through
webbed fingernails and carve lovesongs into
papyrus in plasma, but remember this if
anything
you are my words

bones will break and
stars will die
before you or I;
our love captured,
entwined, buried
in tree trunk rings

lute players, poets
will know our names,
we will twine our arteries
and become a ballad

though, it may attempt
in earnest vain
to rip us apart
and devour our beauty
dirt- our home;
not our boundary

leagues of saltwater filter into
cartilage, and the moon is not our
problem, no star is silent for the
static behind my eyelids,
cling to my clavicle and play me
a tune of my faltering nitrogen

forever will be
our song