She Wore Blue Velvet

     I wonder who were defined as the first lovers. Is that luxury given to the birds? Or maybe to the grotesque mystery that as our world? Whoever they were, they set an undeniable path of mystery and erotica that would lead to the present and subsequently to me

                Love is a sickness that has infected me with it's fruitful tragedy, but I don't want a cure. I only desire to be sick until the sun explodes and I am but a burning memory to the stars. 

I just hope this sickness never leaves my lover, and has infected him like I have been. I yearn for him to love me until I am dust