I am gradually falling in love
with the concept of us.
Us together.
Two poets in love,
sipping our fancy tea.

Come hammock with me,
on a beach of
star-studded
lake softened
pebbles,
I'll paint pictures
from sun-baked colors,
while you paint
images with light
and glass lenses.

Sailing while freckles
pop up on our shoulders,
your strong hands on the helm.
We'd be wind pirates,
lake waves
would spray
our laughing faces.

You and I
both crave human contact,
like we crave crisp cold air.
Old movies would sprinkle our skin
with black and white,
and our arms would intertwine.

We could cook together,
try spicy things.
The music of popping butter
would feed our souls.
We'd kiss our cats,
and walk our dogs,
side by side,
if you were mine.

I know it's strange,
and as I write,
I'm helping you win another girl,
and we're miles apart...
But if this were one
of those eighties
romantic comedies,
we'd be the best friends
who saw each other with new eyes
before the credits rolled.
And it'd be some kind of wonderful.

if a poet falls in love with you,
you can never truly die.
your lips would be spilled out,
along with perfect puckered lies.
there's always something to love,
even as you sleep in a bed deep underground.
everyone will know what you were made of,
even if you're nowhere to be found.
you are the living breathing poem that all poets need to thrive,
so if a poet happens to fall for you,
you can never truly die.

You get sunshine and hot coffee.
While I'm stuck with cloudy skies and an empty stomach.
My mother never taught me anything about falling in love or how to water a dying plant, but growing up in the dark made me realize that crying into your pillow at two in the morning doesn't make you weak. And laughing so hard that your bones ache, doesn't make you whole.
But sometimes I find myself crying or laughing while hoping that you miss me.
Sometimes I even convince myself that you do.
Even if I know that you don't.

I want to write a love story,
with all the flavor of a grand movie.
A story that touches viewers heart.
The kind people go in droves to,
where man and woman explode with
passions never ending.
I want to write a love story with me in it.
One that matches dream to drifting in someone's arms.