son of adam, daughter of eve

in the beginning, there were only two.
adam and his eve,
the prototypical son and daughter of mortality
one made from the clay, the other made from bone
when cast out, in their primal coupling did they find paradise.
and so it came to pass that eons later
god painted you in my dreams like some ethereal water colour-
capturing the essence of your being in every brush stroke.
ensnaring the tones of your voice in monochromatics.
cornflower blue for your eyes,
gossamer white for your skin,
crimson and dragon's blood the red of your heart.
silver the glint of your piercings in the morning light
as you laugh the way angels come to naught.
with most we mix like oil and water
but together blend as water and paint in a technicolour amalgamation
a renaissance of emotion, displayed on ink-stained scraps of paper for all to see
my soul laid bare at the feet of the public
but not really
because the one who truly sees my soul
laughs in the face of the pseudo-apathy i project
i lie on paper as easily as in person
but not to my son of adam
whose monosyllabic replies speak volumes
a textbook case of total honesty because there is no other way
even if there were, it's not what i would choose
deceit has a way of taking things from us, and you i will not lose
instead i will chronicle these
long-distance love stories painted on sistine chapel ceilings and cathedral walls
carved into headstones
marked on the bark of trees in central park
typed onto plane tickets, hand written on college acceptance letters
clicked on the full keyboards shrunken down to fit cellular lifelines
you are my lifeline
your voice in my head, name on my lips
hand on my heart before we've even started
for you i'd wait lifetimes,
or give to you the gift of man and end my days in your arms
put eternally at peace by your gracious self
romeo was the god of juliet's idolatry
and i am no religious fool,
but in the breaths between where i am beginning and you are ending
choirs sing and worlds are born and devastation ends
which is just as miraculous as parting red seas or raining sulfur
those who would discredit this feeling talkst of nothing,
the envious often lie
and who wouldn't covet our felicity?
for though i miss the eyes and the lips of the adamite who in each breath steals my heart like the cleverest of thieves
i wouldn't give away for the world
the loving tale of two cities.