Mourning Cursive - Let It Be Sweet

Let your name be sweet upon my lips, an incantation whispered through the marrow of my teeth, a syllable that trembles like glass against my tongue, rolling its first consonant like thunder hidden in velvet. I want to feel the echo of it break open my lungs, to taste the ghost of you in every exhale, as if language itself was born only to pronounce you. Let your lips be sweet upon my name, an unlettered prayer unspooled in the cathedral of your chest. I want the goosebumps to rise like scripture written on your skin, your pulse trembling against the thought of me. I want the architecture of your veins to collapse in anticipation, shivers building an altar to desire where my shadow kneels and waits. Let our lips be sweet together, stitched by breath, torn by ache, where butterflies are no longer delicate but savage things beating their wings against our ribs. Every kiss becomes a funeral for loneliness, every sigh the birth of a vow, and in that trembling exchange we discover that the world has already ended, and all that survived was us. Let our names be sweet on our lips together, a litany against silence, a chorus the grave cannot quiet. Let forever be more than a clock’s cruel trick, more than the brittle spine of time. Let forever be the bruise of your kiss on my soul, the endless hymn of your name on mine, the way “ever after” folds into itself and refuses to end.