lovers in a broken city

he considered me a
beautiful catastrophe,
a city
that built itself up
and let itself fall
over and over again.
we described my mind
as the most intricate
architecture.
he became my favorite
late night phone call.
my favorite
only distant lover.
he was a transfusion,
that would flow through
my veins,
explaining his need
to be there.
he was different,
and he needed nothing more,
but to show his
genuine intentions,
and he received love.
he wanted to grasp
he wanted to understand
what made my skin crawl,
what made my knees weak,
what made rain fall from my eyes.
he wanted to understand how
the sun set every night,
into darkness,
and rose again
in the morning,
as strong and beautiful as before.
he wanted to walk with me.