..Not a sentence sprints through my head
But one thought sticks- though you're not aware  
I dream of returning..with you laying there..

A quiver at the lip and a silent gasp
For a brief moment your eyes gave heaven a name

Ink stains bleed more than I*
Marking wood beneath this thin paper
Like branding thoughts onto a fragile mind
I'm painting pictures on their ****** canvases
Vandalizing the thickest of skulls
Although
I see my questions have yet to pierce your eyes
Will any words to me ever escape your lips?
Have you written my name in your diary of misdeeds, or
Carved it deeper in your bones?
Can you not *feel my fingerprints traverse this poem?
I grow so tired of this effortless disregard
For my crippling self hatred seems no more than a result
Of my inability to hate you
You perfect, breathing  @#!*%

This isn't what you think it is,
this has little to do with your soft lips and smooth skin,  
This has to do with what they enclose, not your toned muscles and the curves they form,
This isn't about your anatomy our how well ours meld together in the still of the day or the silence of the night now filled with our moans.
This is deeper then that,
they say your eyes, oh how beautiful they are as they look in to mine, are the windows to your soul.
Your heart,your mind,your soul that is what matters to me.
what is on the inside of the gift is what makes it worth it not the wrapping and you are a gift to my existence, you bring out the best in me with what is inside  you.