"the mind is its own place

and, in itself, can make heaven of hell, a hell of heaven."


i fell in love
with her more
for the spit that
we traded during arguments
than the spit swapped
between ill-equipped lips.

affection of this nature
is nurtured by
my inadequacies
and her frustration.
a manipulation of silence
pushes incriminating truths
past harboring eyelids
and i was left cradled
in the arms
of the night.

i love her more today
though she drifts
far from my shores.
swallowed by the horizon
in the same fashion
i swallowed her.
if the warden were to deliver
a pardon today
and on our island
she would remain
then i would love her deeper
than the abyss
that is found within
romantic decay.