mortals

We were not made to be gods,

Galaxies of our minds intertwining in slow moving harmony,

The intricacy of your body fitting perfectly into mine.

We were not meant to control the world,

For colors to be brighter whenever I am around you,

For the words of your lips to hang frozen in a precipice of noise,

Floating midair like suspended smoke.

Sunlight will always gleam but not dance around us,

Rain will continue to fall on eyelashes and bare shoulders,

Our attraction will not be magnetic.

If we were gods, the wind would push me towards you,

Your embrace would be ambrosia, melting my fears,

I could drink nectar from the hollows of your collarbones,

Or steal it directly from your lips.

Our fates would be sealed in an hourglass,

Our time running smoothly in the sand,

Every moment calculated, every move preemptively predicted.

But I don't believe in fate or miracles.

Your presence doesn't stop time or give me life,

Instead it breathes fresh air into my constricted lungs.

If we were meant to be gods, we would never breathe, or bleed, or scar,

And our love is too mortal to be star-crossed.