//

I have been meaning to write for awhile now, finding the time to articulate my thoughts into paragraphs the perfectionist in me would approve of is a whole other story though.

But yet
I am choked for words and my mind can only obsess over the ramblings of your
quiet, closed up one screaming sacrilege
against the religion that is the cartilage of my right ear
between your teeth and every raised bump my fingers elicit
whenever a graze overstays its welcome
as though catalyzed
everything flashes in nanoseconds of hitched breath and
the suddenly deafening drumming of the pads of your fingers
on the dip of my spine
small strokes like blinding white light between my eyelids
serving to crumble the composure I have valiantly held
then also not
because I will never be the same
like how fragmented porcelain can never gleam atop a bookshelf
after the passionate fumbling of eager hands
reduces even the most sturdy
    into
          d u s t.