Lorenzo-Chan

                       Expect them to be flawed,                       a field of wild flowered-                       imperfections, sticky                             metaphors                                & an inability                       to speak.                       Love them anyway.                       Know that when they look at you                       they are noticing the little things.                       Your smile,                            the sound of your voice,                         the laugh lines—                                bruises.                       Know                    

                       Expect them to be flawed,                       a field of wild flowered-                       imperfections, sticky                             metaphors                                & an inability                       to speak.                       Love them anyway.                       Know that when they look at you                       they are noticing the little things.                       Your smile,                            the sound of your voice,                         the laugh lines—                                bruises.                       Know                    

So long as you furnish me with a window And a steel frame bed in a corner of a room I’ll endeavour to keep the pane transparent To give my eyes a crystal clear view of the moon Regardless of what phase you are going through Whether it be half, crescent, full, blue or new You have never once shown me your dark side But so many times I have shown mine to you But tranquillity can be seen on a clear night Tides roll through my veins as thoughts flood to my pen Of all the ancestors that have gone before me Who've had the same moon looking down over them So long as you furnish me with a window And a steel frame bed in a corner of a room Yo

And I asked her, "Do you remember why I counted tiles- sat in silence for hours, wishing on the black holes in my pockets?" Stuttering against quiet delusions, She bit a vintage tongue. "Because, I tried to bury myself alive that night, just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters between the cracks of my glass skin." Licking dry lips, She asked to taste them.