raquel s.4

I wish I could say that our love was soft as a fawn’s hide;
That our passion waxed and waned with the tides in our hearts.

But there is something of this sweet destruction that is addictive to my sensibilities.
I have come to learn the crashing, the breaking, the spinning-madly-out-of-control as our language.

So don’t speak softly to me, love?
Don’t take a foreign tongue for this ancient song.

—  A WRECKED BED WITH A SPLINTERED HEADBOARD (pt 10/26) // a. b.