I want to rip off your logic
and make passionate sense to you.
I want to ride in the swing of your hips.
My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks,
blazing your limbs into parts of speech.
To the starlight caught in my veins,
Where are you? Last time we spoke you were tangled in the lights of London. I miss you. I miss your words. How are your wings? You wrote to me that they were heavy and I promised you that I would always carry you if they became too much for you. Those words haven’t changed.
You told me to remember myself. Remember that I am a constellation. I am a warrior who still reaches for the sky. Oh how I wish to show you all that I have seen. I have caught the hues of sunrise on my fingertips. I have stolen many stars from the nighttime sky. Life has been cruel, you know. I am still caught within the depths of the sea. I found the morning star you promised me there too. I don’t think of you as a liar, but I don’t know what or how to think of you anymore.
Without your armor, you are still you. The writer who always had a letter to share. The person who knew that words my will not always be covered in honey.
However, I am still your little bird."