my bed,
tainted with dreams of your long hair and **** silhouette

your bed,
you and her intertwined, forming a figure eight of lust

you were my spine,
now I can't sit up straight.

I spell “I love you” on the lines of your collarbone

and I always try to go from one end to another,
brushing calligraphy strokes with my tongue
and blotting your skin as a page with my lips.

I never really have finished saying it,
and I guess I never will

my motions are lost among your curves
and my lips almost always end up
meeting yours somewhere in the middle.

I want to describe how love feels at 3am with your arms around my waist in the kitchen
And how it felt felt when jumping in the lake wearing only my own skin.
I want to live and feel something other than the inflation of my own lungs that force me to breathe.

I want to dance with you to jazz music while we wear only our underwear at 2am.
I want our bodies to know each other so well that our hearts start to beat in unison.
I crave to hear the fluent Spanish flow off your lips when I make you feel something that English can not express.
I want to call you mine before bed when you finally let your hair drape down past your shoulders, and when you make your first cup of coffee in the morning.
It's 5 in the morning and I can't stop thinking about her loving you the way that I should be.

The same day I learned I loved you
I also learned to say
"Your eyes are like stars"
I'm not sure if I believe in fate but
This is not a coincidence