pretentious love.

be my fable—my moonrise tea,

                        be my shot of stability.

hold my heart and hand & kiss my curves softly.

but more than anything, tell me your thoughts (please):

sculpt your mind with unfiltered phrases of raw words,

fresh cut slabs of verity.

because my soul craves organized chaos,

collateral spontaneity, it tastes like warm honey

dripping from

                    gold tongues of destiny.