my lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of ballet slippers.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when i'm trying not to laugh.
my lips are sealed lips.
they do not repeat secrets,
no, these lips are trustworthy lips.
they are still glued shut,
not letting me say the things i want to say, need to say...
there's a reason my poetry
is written down,
not spoken aloud.

his lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of pink carnations.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when he's trying not to laugh.
his lips are healing lips.
they heal mine, heal me
when my lips are too tired from telling the same lies i always do.
no, his lips are honest lips.
they are still always candor,
never afraid to tell me
what i need to hear,
whispered in my ear.

our lips are galaxy lips.
when they touch,
even the stars don't know what to do so they explode,
supernovas shattering the Earth,
as the Sun and Moon collide
in a cacophony of stardust.
our lips
are astronomical lips.
-a.c.b

i sit down in bed and the clock reads 10,
i smile and uncap my ballpoint pen.
and with words that flow like the love through my veins
i try to unleash my words from their chains.

i dreamt of a prince, honest and true
i gave up my dream and then i met you.
like beauty i've seen only in the stars
i quickly got swept up in all that you are.

he says i'm his everything, the air that he breathes
agreed that we both bring the other to their knees.
he says i'm his siren, irresistible yet cruel
the way my words have taken him down like each previous fool.

his words are like honey and i'm drunk off the taste,
every moment near his lips- one i never want to waste.
but with words that flow like the love through our veins
i've succeeded in unleashing my words from their chains.
-a.c.b

i cried him a storm of rose petals, the soft leaves blinding him as the thorns press into his sides, he can't see them, he can't feel them, he can't see that i am a violent battlefield, a fallen angel disguised as a soldier, my love is a pile of grenades and the pins are already pulled, and the whole thing will blow up in his face long before he has the chance to pick another rose.

our love is soft on the outside, the color of ballet slippers and the taste of buttercream frosting but when you get past the surface you see our love is hard, solid. we are just a couple of slightly damaged people who haven't felt the sun on their faces in so **** long; they crave the validation, they crave the love hidden between the other's lips, their desire surpasses just that-- it is no longer a want, a desire. our love is a need.

he has used a needle and thread to stitch his name into the blood running through my very body, filled my lungs with only his voice so i often forget how to breathe when he is not with me. i know i have become too reliant, too dependent on his velvet words but i can't stop now, can't back out, and the rose petals are falling from my eyes.
-a.c.b