Fingertips

As long as I feel my pulse,

running strongly in the throat, softly in my fingertips.

I am still floating on.

You broke into me, like a madman burglarizing a store of precious gems. 

But I remain. Does that upset you. That you didn't get the best of me.

That you couldn't blow down my wall, not with all the might in your body.

I dream hopelessly of a love that can last through it all, our ashes and bones

mix together to see the end of the world. 

I wish to entwine hands and feel the pulse in your fingertips.

You, my faraway love.

I want to want to make you breakfast, 

and tie your socks together, the way my grandmother does.

Grow old with passion, and a sense of madness..

That I could look into the same eyes my whole life,

and know I was right.

Until then, I have my pulse, and my insane sanity.

You all never got the best of me.