Desire turns distance into orders and wounds into truth.

I’m always one stumble away from heart break. Torn between watching my step and looking into your eyes. Tracing along the scars on your skin that mark the thresholds I’ll never cross. An undiscovered country on the other side of you.

A highwire act on flat ground.

I fall so often. The skin of my palms and knees doesn’t remember what it’s like not to be broken. I just pick myself up and pour whiskey on the raw places, and the sting, it feels honest. Just like the hollow of your back. Just like my hands in your hair.

Lost once had a meaning, and then it meant found, and I realized my mouth was speaking a new language. One where words like break and fall and scars were vague memories.

And you became a verb.