that i've been reading your poetry
(on the new front page)
and,

I ******* love
your words; your worlds;
it's like i'm,
    there. right there,
with you.

you see, i didn't do what you do--
         write my story aloud
--when i was fifteen, or even twenty-two

just an inch off the ground
                        i confided in clouds
stayed lost (was a puff too proud)

that was then, sure, but even today
   (it's 11:11, now)
putting any of it down
committing to this word, not that
this sentiment,
      not that
this meaning
       (and not simultaneously that)
              is walking through fire

and so, for leading the way
           let me just say,
                       i love you

and please,
don't ever stop.

A glimmer in his eyes of brown,
a smile that warms my heart,
A flutter in my stomach
on the days we are apart.

A pair of wings that sprout within
each time he takes my hand,
These are things I feel
because he's the bravest in the land.

I do not need a magic mirror,
nor a crystal ball.
I KNOW that he's most handsome
and the fairest one of all.  

I find myself thinking of you
with alarming frequency. For instance,
today while folding my laundry,
I caught myself thinking of you
and wondering, as I'm apt to do,
how would you fold your laundry, or
do the dishes? Do you sing
when you’re alone?

I think of you every time
when passing the street corners
where we’ve lingered
on snowy evenings, or the park
where we played grounders
in the summer. I think of you
even in places we've never been together
and a longing rises up in me
to share them with you
one day.

Even now, I am thinking
of how I am thinking of you,
which is really the same thing
as thinking of you, is it not?

And while I'm thinking of you
I think
*wouldn't it be sweet
if you were thinking of me too?

I like it when you hold me
When I can look into your eyes
For you are beauty, a sense of familiarity, the feeling that you are all I need in my life.