perfect when silent

my eyes scour her every atom
marveling at her molecular magnificence
I watch her moving
(unnecessary movements)
like bored air
squeezing in the smallest gaps

she undresses herself with ease
and dresses me in awe

she wants to tell me nothings; a routine
of how she believes it should be

I tell her words are like mortal rain and
her skin is eternal poetry

she mounts me like a loving whore
and destroys me like a bomb
I now drip down these deafened walls
and she soaks me back up for again

she's relentless in her activities;
hours compliment her flawless pigments
I'd be a fool to stop this art, but
I'm running low on guts

I'll never love her, never could
perhaps because my mother
never showed me what love was

I'll never tame perfection, or
forget how perfection tastes

I go to her often when all thoughts have sunk

I'll never remember her words
but her bones have grown, in the ridges of my skull