He’s my poem, I’m his song. Together, we’re one another’s story.

My heart flutters home, meeting my soul along the way. He’s waiting, his smile brightening the atmosphere as our bodies touch, the delicate set of skins melting into a single form of art.

The year was 1892,
Where the sun glowed like never before.
Her soft mahogany curls were elegantly folded into her head,
The pink blush vibrant against her porcelain skin.
Her easel was flooded with elaborate strokes,
The tones gathered from the glorious flowers erected in the fenced off garden.
The authentic golden beauty was aching from behind her, arching forward toward the warm summer morning beams.
"How funny," she whispered, "They remind me of you."
The canvas illuminated the "you" she had just mentioned, the man positioned in a gorgeous array of scenery, yet he was the focus; the true vision in her mind's eye. She wondered where he was, and why he had not yet answered her artist's call.
Her back curved toward the sunflowers and golden rods behind her in a hand-painted vase, and she made a gesture with her hands.
"I will marry you someday."
That's when a soft patter broke the silence - she was being beckoned beyond her dwelling on this day.

The rose bushes are issuing their consistent melody,
With such unbearable benevolence.
I crave surprising him with their petals, the harmonizing scent blending with the vintage lingerie and a picnic basket full of sweets, freshly cut flowers and writing he inspired.
My life, my soul, the man I love more than I did two seconds ago.

In love with a boy who understands what the leaves say when they whisper in the wind,
Love that’s two cups of coffee gone cold because we decided to make love on the kitchen floor.
Love that makes you realize they're both your sunrise and your sunset,
And
Love that shows you places inside yourself that you never knew existed before.

It's the kind of love, where you feel the same way about them as you do when drinking the first sip of coffee each and every morning,
And where you want to play with their hair until they can't remember what their name is.

The sort of love that isn't ordinary at all, where you know they'll be making you weak in the knees on your 34th anniversary,
And you find yourself reciting the day you first met as your favorite day.
And,
Where you're homesick for that person the second you're apart.

I just adore how you feel upon my skin, October.
I went outside to sit beneath an autumn tree
With its beautiful, colorful assortment of leaves
Crunching beneath me
And I asked,
If I looked as beautiful dying.

The passerby stare,
Analyzing the earthbound woman with a mossy soul
And never fail
To tell others
Of
The girl with golden leaves in her hair, in love with a boy who held autumn within the palms of his hands.

Blood spiller, blood drinker, heart of flame.
The days come and go, but in autumn, she cannot be tamed.
                                                                                                             -Shauna

I ruined his life and he ruined mine, so we must be soulmates.