You said I look the best in red, like battlegrounds from books of history, pressed against my hips like sadness in the sea, before a storm, that keeps calling out my name. I tell you I am a horror movie with a script that you could sing as a lullaby. I'll wrap you in words soft as smoke from chimneys and love as fierce as a cyclone. My dreams are made of melancholy & cold December nights and my passion burning bright as the winter morning sun. I'm closer than the objects in your rear view mirror and farther than the nearest constellation. The gentle breeze that brings me to sing and sway also takes me away as a tornado never meant to stay. There is war in my mind that can bring devastation and life all at once. I long to wander in the labyrinth of your eyes and explore those dark places inside of you where the things you do not say go to sleep. I want to write something about the way your words turn into a place I wish I had known.
It's always after midnight and everything is waiting to die. How strange is the language between us, so familiar, but without saying a word.