pulp symphony

dear everything that is anything to anyone, this is music written on paper, made from the tree that was once you. this I've written on your skin to aid in the creation of a composition, our concert which will serve as the soundtrack for our love. the anthem of our convergence. it is a symphony dedicated to the synchronicity of our heartbeats. a tribute to their conjoined murmurs; hers of ash and mine of dust. dust rises and ash falls, the distance between which our love can be measured, the tip of my tongue, the warmth of her kiss. let those words be said from those lips, and so i'll pray that in our time both our peaks and valleys flat-line together. a singular plateau of what we were, and will always be. then, i will come back to you as a crimson worm, divine and offered to you in worship. your body will be veiled in snowflakes and illuminated by fireflies so that i may find you and till you back into earth. from that earth you'll become a tree, one strong and tall, one i hope to come for, find again and chop down. and once you've fallen for me after that last blow, i shall put down my axe, chew on your sap, and fashion your flesh into paper, just as i have done before, to compose another symphony of ours. Comment Read