i'll crawl on your ribs, hang from your left lung, and creep my way to your heart — the icy heart that i would slowly melt with this warmth — the warmth you liked to call the summer-glow of tropicana.
the ropes with which you secured your heart tight within your ribcage have now eased its clutch, slipping from the skin of your soft (plump) heart and tangling with the last few ribs holding the lungs you said i suck the air out of.
the scars on your skin and soul taste like moondew that i licked the first time i realized i was in love with you, and the second night i learnt you loved me back — i tasted moondew on my tongue, felt the lightest of feathers tickle the depths of my heart, had my stomach sunk in with whispers of a few hundreds of thousands of blooming wings.
and since then i have never stopped tasting moondew on my tongue, feeling the tickle in my heart; since then i have never stopped falling for you.
and i hope i never live the day i would want them to stop, for you are too precious for me to lose, and too very real and true to be a lie, love.
.•°✧.*•○
