"Write one sentence, the truest sentence that you know."-Hemingway

So I took his advice.

I wrote it on the walls of your slumber and
along the spines of my favorite days.
I painted it on windows,
we turned into doors,
and doors we turned into walls.
I wrote it on your sharp tongue
and all it's favorite places to explore,
the latitudes
and longitudes of a truth unraveled.

I will always love you.

All these whiskey loving gentlemen,
Just trying to find some peace again.
They're fighting off questions,
Of their intentions and their existance.
They run the night with wild women,
And they always walk with rhythm.
And it's quieting their demons,
But they're screaming for a reason.

my ink-stained fingers
are starting to itch for your touch
these lanky arms miss
encircling your plump waist
my heart no longer feels home
at my own chest

it's strange that i long for
those i've never known