To all the poems

that came  
before this one  
I hope you're  the depiction  
of chaotic longing  
a lone cloud  
pent,
full with rain.  

You howl  
at the sun,  
at the mountable ground.  
 
I hope you are  
gentle with Juliet love,  
atmospheric,  
light every incense in your frame
and burn between binding,  
that you flutter scarred,  
stretch marked and naked  
in the eye of anyone
that'll have you.  
 
I hope you exist
between sheets
covered in loved dust
and fingerbed DNA,
that I die
quietly,
beside you,  
pencil in hand.  
 
I hope you are
consistently rough handed
with me,  
brooding  
 
a style
running through
will always suit you.