Love, but, but
Love these shaking hands
They are made to write
But, hands betray me
Love the self that writes
We’re on the same page
But, I hate you still
Love how openly you incense me
You're ignition for who I am
But, the burn feels so good
Love how spirits burn the throat
It releases words of loathing
But, djins won’t go in bottles
Love my thirst for dopamine
It connects my hard wiring
But, axons are hard to break
Love the ghost in the machine typing
It reveals what’s on my mind
But, reflections always fall short
Love my creative soul mirrored
It is a fragile blossom
But, I’m allergic to pollen
Love when there’s nothing to write
From nothing comes something
But something turns to nothing
Love these shaking paws anyway
Because love’s the hardest prose
But, its language is out of reach
Ok? Ok, love.
I’ll let you sit on my lap
But, you have sharp claws
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