Shall I compare your love to nothing?
For nothing sustains my homeostasis
As do tangible visions of spectral dragons I sense but can’t perceive.
Perhaps there is just nothing comparable!
Absence is as fickle as reality:
Numbed feet cause trips to be
Too often taken but never completed.
Shall I compare your lips to slumber?
Milky white skin beautifully culminating in
Pink edges begging for pressure
But history is etched into bed sheets.
Perhaps I am the one asleep!
Waking visions of traps and police
And brawls and fiesty gremlins
That sneak in through the crawl space.
Shall I compare your breasts to everest?
Majestic from afar and insurmountable in person
They house my future
Grave when settled snow becomes enthralled.
Perhaps I am a mountain too!
Looming in the distance and covered in crags,
Desperately trying to provide immovable
Views and permanence.
Shall I compare your hands to vice grips?
They soothe and stem my bleeding
And rake new grooves in flesh in turn;
My habits tend to make a mess.
Perhaps I am a savage too!
My taste for flesh is real but waning,
My mood is made of intuition
And my stomach guides my face.
Time to buy some roller skates.