An ode to that very first love

I picked up my pen to write again,
because from the outside looking in i stared at you
and your flaws, until i saw a reflection of myself.
Skin deep memories and the journeys to forever;
The shortcuts and the vehicle that broke down, is our story
but our love was never Black and White.
Every other obstacle was a prop, nothing was unnecessary
the story lines darkened as the months sped by, but this movie is high on detail

In Black and White, i observed the contrasts between your porcelain skin at rest
and at work, the chemistry and the standard deviation from melanin
that made our love more unique than what unpeeled eyes could tell.
I reminisce about how your lips could speak loud enough to be heard
And how our passions would Combust,
Like a match that struck the sides of its box.
Your Love burnt deep to the roots like a forest fire but this aint no jungle fever,
Our love was like arson, and i was too guilty of not giving a fuck

My love for you superseded time, distance and death.
and we took for granted the blindfolds that helped us indulge ourselves.
instruments like distance, trust, ambition, lust and heat kept us inches apart
until we exhausted ourselves in a land so far.
Even in sleep your lips yearned for mine and we moved so fast,
yet never cared, as long as WE moved and made moves
gambling away that our fire could never burn hot and cold at the same time.

But this movie's a classic, and i watched, as her caramel brown eyes dilate
yet it nauseates now, how the intoxicating smell of her hair then, like freshly plucked roses
helped me put arms around her neck like those branches of a tree that depend on each other.
Our Love, like a drifter at high speeds gave us the courage to sit back,
relax and curiously admire each other, like ancient works of art
though we sold our souls to the merchant of oxymorons
like "SCENE-KIDS in Africa" or "PUNK-ROCK in chick flicks"

I morphed. I expanded, for you
till all that was left, of me was
an exploded, deflating balloon;
in search of that special amount of air
just to feel alive again.

Our love became like that movie that grew shorter on flagrant detail,
though you “needed” me like my lungs craved oxygen
and I needed you like your heart craved blood to go on.
Now, it disgusts me how much you were addicted to my touch
and how many times we'd sit juxtaposed in awe as our lips mesmerized themselves.
The cuteness of your silly faces and how you could get me out of my shell
remains a bitter testament to how our love like poisoned darts of pleasure
struck hard and left me, crippled. I couldn’t escape the movie's tragic ending.