Your Wine-Stained Lips

You are not afraid of death;
you are afraid of dying before you have lived.
You must learn to love the rain;
it is nature’s way of giving you permission to slow down.
There is still too much skin between us,
so I will thread you into my soul.
You laugh in shades of pink and kiss me in every hue of yellow.
Come closer, and let me paint this sky with your moans.
Your heart is a mosaic of fragments
stolen from past lovers.
There is too much of you to contain in a single zeptosecond.
For you, I will create a new measurement of time.
You did not fall in love.
You barged in, drunk and unsteady, demanding to stay.
We will master a new language of words to put to bed these tired old phrases.
Then we may properly introduce our tongues.
You were born to rattle mountains and consume oceans;
you were not made to survive monotony.