On some days, her eyes would fix on a spot,
Looking at the gates of heaven open.
Sometimes she never sits still, and you would
Have to hold out your tongue to catch her sighs
In little teardrops, til there is no more
Of her sweetest self to give to the sky.
When those wild, sad eyes cleave to your insides
Exposure is instant, and the stars crumble,
There is no place, no time but only this,
Only confusion, the taste of her lips.
And you will drown. But to the outside world,
It will be as though you chose to hold still.