I will be the key to a gate in your heart that you don't even know exists. Whispering, in a voice only loud enough for your spine to hear. Open your rib cage, my lover, show me what sparkling opera you have hiding in there, sing me a bridge to the moment you forgot how to breathe. The moment when all of this feels like a footnote to embrace, an essence so beautiful it can only be read on the sunniest of days because we both know what it feels like to be cut off at the knees. So I'll start by patchwork quilting your shins with my lips, teach you how to stand again, how to throw rocks at moving cars. I want this to be reckless. They'll have to scratch their heads, and pass it off as organized chaos. A silly string masterpiece that only you and I could have created, that you are a Picasso being shredded over Mozart's 9th Symphony. We all have different reasons for smiling at the sun. Mine just happens to be you.
happy birthday, ez!
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