I can feel your heart break, when you see it and they don't. I have walked through mountains of hurt to stand beside you now.
All of my life just to be by your side, when your life's work includes enduring heartbreak. Wrenched into your own poetry. You helped my book write itself.
And you knew it was going to crash and burn, but for some romantic reason, you kept yourself in suspending in disbelief. Perhaps, so you could create with it later.
To free myself of the hurt, I turned to poetry. It wasn't a decision, but more of helpless act. The past pouring itself out onto the pages now.
The smoke shadows on the adjoining buildings in the early mornings. Hours spent walking Soho streets, same cup of cold black coffee. Planning trips we'll never take, fantasizing art we'll never make. And I leave my artist cave to brave the day with you. The bright blue sky that rigidly begins where the buildings end. Our adjacent lofts. Cigarettes and blank canvases. The stories I've never written are hiding up there, but I need you to break my heart first.
leather jacket by Deadwood
joan bra nude & black by Agent Provocateur
joan brief nude & black by Agent Provocateur
japan bomber by topshop
photos by Jorden Keith