Your love feels like April taunting my lips into a confession

Prose piece

Would you like to feed me pomegranate seeds from the palm of your hands?

In another life; the term ‘Love’ does not swell up my throat’s flesh like the ache of too much syrup. One where if you ask me how I feel, I can tell say “However you’d like me to.” With ease. Unashamed at the loss of myself, in exchange for gaining you. 

When I’m not too afraid to indulge in Gluttony. 

When Greed turns a blind eye to your antics?

Perhaps when its sinister sins do not weigh me down like Atlas. I’ll tell you some secrets I’ve woven into the fabric of my soul then and there, things I’ll tear right out of the Morai’s temple, just to please you. 

If the struggle of our hearts alone purifies the worst of sins, then you’re my repentance.

If sacrifice is part of the lord’s requirement, I’m a lamb waiting in the slaughterhouse of my love’s endearments.

If loyalty is an honourable trait, then my gateway to heaven is your gaze brushing over my temple.

For now, all I can do is sit upon this hill with you, where it’s always December; caging me into its embrace. 

You’ll ask me if I want to go inside to feel warmer

I’ll tell you that your touch alone could render Helios useless. 

Or perhaps in that other life, I’ll tell you you're the box of letters under my bedside, in the corner- sort of hidden away, that guards parts of my heart that I’ve left for you to dissect till your own heart’s content.

“I feel like we’re lost.” 

I would defy fate for you in every lifetime just to find us, I would embroider your name into my flesh like a map to my soul, right above my heart, should I ever be stupid enough to lose myself. I would follow you into doom itself blindly like Eurydice and Orpheus.

“Move a little closer, you might fall off the edge.” 

How do I explain to you, dearest; that Elysium rests in the space left between us, and Tartarus beyond it? I’m not sure if mere mortals like us deserve to find heaven on Earth.

“I don't want you to fall, move away from there.”

Maybe we could try appealing to the deities who reign over the world below our feet, to let us just have a glimpse. After all; if the gods above condemn us, the ones below ought to understand that union all too well. 

Icarus fell to his liberation, not his doom, so what’s a bit of scraped flesh if the wounds free the desires locked within? 

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Author’s note:
I have never been in love nor had a major crush honestly, I do not know where this came from lmao.
- Zoha