I fell in love with the morning, how you stumbled out of bed when you first woke up, and how your eyes groaned with exhaustion.
The way your hands grasped my hips while your lips stole the ending of my sentences. Every day with you felt like a month of Sunday mornings with white bed sheets and lazy smiles.
The walk home from your room made me remember what Monday mornings feel like.
Somewhere between falling in love with our midnight conversations that were interrupted by soft kisses and pokes in the ribs, and reading the love notes you wrote on my skin.
I realized,
I am in love with the presence of your words and the feel of your existence.
I am in love with you.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
I watch the sun rise and I watch it set
beautifully at rest
I watch the dark clouds set over me
I watch the moon light upon me
I count the stars above me
gazing at the beauty that lays in front of me
I look over by my side and see you next to me
and I realize
I love you more than the stars that shine through my eyes
I love you more than the moonrise
I love you more than the sun that lights up my day
I love you more each day
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 5:04 AM UTC
I want to know
about every time you've felt invincible and why.
compare and contrast who you are and who you wish
you were. tell me,
what does the voice in your head sound like
and could I meet him sometime?
I want to hear your thesis statements
when you're afraid to tell anyone else
and I want to read your body,
paragraphs. to understand your figure,
figurative language.
to borrow your hands
in writing a haiku, because my ten fingers
can only count syllables into the second line.
let me add you to the list
of times you felt invincible,
until you can't count how many times you've felt so strong
with your fingers toes or freckles.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
when the tiny
plane landed
it sounded
like my camera rewinding
i thought,
this is a
perfect picture.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC
I find your mother
in every god **** person I see son.
her smell and skin and eyes and bones.
every single face is perfumed with her laughter.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
"I like you"
you said, and I waited for a "but..."
instead came your arms and
"no matter what"
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
U.
You.
Hue.
You.
You are the reason why I can’t write anyou
it is taking me so long thinking ofyou
styles, figyoures, metaphyours,
I can’t even finis-
any sentenc-you
Stop.
You’re the reas-you
Youarethereaso-you.
**** Even if I think faster, you can still keep pace-you.
You are a mountaintop between dawn-you.
I can’t write anyou.
How you can you I you write you any you poetry you
make you art you you you-
if there’s always you slipping between my wo-you-rds and thoughts.
I can’t you
You.
You.
Now I know why poets can’t write when they are in lov-you.
You.
You.
Sorry love but how can I make you a poem when there are no words
I can think of that can describe you except …
You.
You.
You.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
i want to embody every girl.
i want to be a sunday school girl in the ‘60s, red ribbons in my hair, two neatly tied plaits the color of wheatfields, riding my bike down cobblestone streets, sunlight kissing my neck.
i want to be a tattooed punk rock worshipper, electric blue hair and ray-bans, fishnet stockings and the city a blur of entangled lights in the rear-view mirror of my motorcycle.
i want to be a venice girl who reads valentines for a living, rapunzel hair all soft sculptured ringlets, a pet blue bird and summer dresses in floral prints, long eyelashes and sowing glitter.
i want to be a french artist and revolutionist in the ‘90s, **** paintings and led lights, portraits out of beer cans and pencil shavings, a student of the fine arts falling in love again and again with the light and how it falls on the sidewalks & people’s faces & the trees.
i want to be this girl and that girl, a romanian princess in her 20’s, an old witch with a grisly past, a gypsy on the run, a victorian model, a historian with an appetite for gardening, an archaeologist who nicknames all her finds, a singer who grates her guitar on boulevards in italy and cafes in paris for the spare dime, an english man’s favorite daughter. i want to be a struggling ballet dancer with an emotional dependency on poetry, an astronaut who discovers a parallel universe, a noir film actress who smokes too much and has eyes like diamonds, a fortune teller, a vigilante, a musician. every girl’s soul whispers to me.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC