Heaven is the canvas that my artist hands ache slow to touch. Curves that quake this fever to blush. Red and no kiss is enough. My breath gone like a thief. My words obsolete only her touch and a undying aching whisper paralyzes me to speak. No wonder she's oxygen to me. My only definition Worth gravity. Yet I worship her just to this heart complete. Her thoughts possibly alone consist of me. They burn of me every day. At midnight I'm in love with black cherry lipstick. Who knew heaven was the sweetest wine. I devour possessively. I adore like I can't help but want you. Except it's actually true. Those lips that haunt me in dreams like softness. I toss and turn just to be oblivious to everything else. But you. Though opacity is in my bed. Half empty. You cursedth sheets never knowing warmth like the sun. Yet her river is my only winter. This fever that killed my vocabulary yet one word breathe your ease of being. Heavenly. Yes heavenly. I toss and turn just to be delirious enough to have you like glue in my dreams. Fantasies they are composed bittersweet masterpieces that I wake just for the ink of my genuine emotions slowly ache to in the sweetest agony bleed.