Our love was a ritual of the land of the skies and beyond… I was a shooting star from a thousand million eons ago and I crash landed inside your heart. You placed my fragile pieces back together and even kissed the pain of the shockwaves away and all I could do was swallow my empty pride and walk away a forsaken saint born again out of the darkness of my own miserable inception as usual. I’m still haunted by the voices in the dark and the what if’s but you were so perfectly militant and headstrong and for that I have to stay lucid until the very day your pretty little eyes meet mine and I burn up like fire along with every other devil that lead me a way so astray, I had no choice but to seek your very soul like the medicine that killed me the very first time I learned to numb the grade of death under the spell that only you would know how to cast. But know just for you, I would spawn a love so pure the heavens would pale in comparison and the flowers would decorate your fucking skin made of diamonds. I would protect and serve you with the strength of a thousand soldiers all to stand alongside your treasures and your beauty marks and even the most highest of Gods would have no choice but to honor the maiden ministry of your oh so holy design where not a drop of rain would possess the strength to taint your crimson crown, oh flower-child. I would swallow the very thunder and lightning that I know follows you like moths to a flame and just your touch, your voice could summon a brazen skyline of stars I would succumb to with perfect precision and incision like a bible verse tattooed to the insides of my own skull that you would paint with the very grace of an ancient enchantress enchanted with the very kiss of death that first stole my soul when I was first just a baby bird learning how to fly with coulisse wings and exhausted eyes that never could have saw into enough light until your heart exploded like a diamond on a landmine and I finally knew what it was to fall in love with complete trust in an unknown force we have come to call gravity and your angelic body would salvage me to a forest of imperial dreams where every single nightmare would be punished in your perfect archangelic temple where not even bullets could pierce the veil of your smile and all I would be able to do in return is pick you a bouquet of roses to a Christmas carol at night to celebrate the celibate that I would come to possess like Emily Rose lying unharmed in a garden of angels that never died and our love would reign forever like a pagan liturgy of the afterlife echoing into our very own eternity of truth and grace and love forever and ever and ever and ever.