the myth of light

your kisses fling disembodied birdsongs through me like i am a basement staircase that cinderblocks are crashing down, into a darkness that is heavy with rusted bicycles, old birdcages, and teenage memory. it is an engulfing darkness, shaped like the insides of your arms. if human-kind is a flurry of short-lived self importance, creating monuments to its own destruction, reaching to extinguish the light, then i will walk like a clam, straight into the darkness, holding your hand in mine like a rare treasure.