Ximena

Brutal are the butterflies    
Stirring my liquid soul    
Swelling resin with a glisten of hope    
Falsetto singing live from the basement    
   
You steal my breath with your rich gown of scalloped kashmere    
I could not imagine a more beautiful weaving with my last name  
You remove the mantle and tear it to little pieces    
Releasing the floating lanterns into the open night    
   
I shine offensive    
Sprouting through a dark lense    
Destruction is a force I would like to turn onto myself    
Torture me to the atoms in my cells with devices awaiting in hell     
   
I would endure a hail of bullets to keep them from harming you    
Even though the thought of my soft touch makes you twitch with disgust    
I followed you in a heartfelt fall of passion    
Wanting to murder all that of my self unworthy of warm friendship    
   
Pulling apart the intertwining snakes of our art    
You gave rise to the king who burns everything in his wake    
I would bathe in a tub of ice cubes with blue lips to share in your cruel sips    
Your essence is pure intoxication for me    
   
You make me the sunflower in the embrace of pollen    
Even when you arrive in morbid shadow speaking in curses I do not want to hear    
I have to admire the beautifully deadly slices you cut me with    
I wish you would drive a jeweled dagger into the slots of my ribcage so I can die with the dark purple romance that was missing from my life    
   
There is nothing I can do    
To you I am just an aging oak    
So twisted that I would have the shade of my branches be your home    
That I would coil my shell of bark just to hold you in the darkness    
   
I am not to harvest us this lifetime    
Tuck my heart into protective petals of shell casing metal    
Splitting out further from the wedge of our life divided    
Deepening into the darkness of being dead to your eyes