we met when the first snow fell, demons hiding behind rose bushes as he traces my apple cheeks with his bloody hands, painting van gogh's stars on mine.

he was dreamy and so we sped off into meadows where god's archangels danced with lucifer and my butterscotch lemon irises melted with the nectar of the buds as he reached into me and grabbed my soul from the pits of my rose peach flesh and kissed it, adored it and cradled it until the moon swung high in the sky.