The Forbidden Fruit

My heart flips when I think of your name.

It’s because it’s forbidden that I’m hungry for it to sit on my tongue,

spill out of my mouth.

Your name is like magic.

Like holding the sun in your hands.

Like stars in space.

Like supernovas exploding in vacuums of gravity.

Like unicorns that don’t exist.

Your name exists and it doesn’t.

It’s Schroeder’s name,

both alive and dead.

Sparks and wet logs.

Fire and sand.

Blood and mosquitos.

It has the power to electrify the city of my heart

and burn down the forest fire of my brain.

It has the power to withhold me from being dumb

and I’m dumb a lot.

I love your name because it is forbidden to me.

I care about you because you are forbidden to be.

I ask questions because you are forbidden to be.

I tell you to sleep because you are forbidden to be.

Kept under lock and key.

I’ve always loved mysteries

and you’re one I want to piece together whole.

Make constellations out of you.

Tell your story to the entire world

because I care about you

and I care about you

because you are forbidden to be.

I care about you because

you are the stars in my universe

that guide me during dark nights

when no one else is there

except my thoughts.

You are there,

forbidden

but there.

I admire you for that.

Your name may be forbidden

but it’ll echo inside the chambers of my heart

for as long as I shall live:

Forever.

Will you do the same with mine?

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