You are my galaxy
And these freckles are
the only constellations
I want to explore

I'm not too good at opening up to people; but I have made a home in you: the crease underneath your shoulder is the only pillow I think I'll ever need, your eyes are the windows in which I wish to see the world through, and the rumble of your laughter is an earthquake that cannot tear these foundations to the ground. Like the weeds in the garden, I am rooted to you. I hope you never dig me out.

They say that love
is blind, and I agree.
Because I do not need to be blessed
with sight, to see that I am
blessed with you

You prefer storms over
the sun and I think
that’s why you chose me
over everyone else

You are the foundations
that keep me safe

You are my little
white picket gate

You are home.

I’m sorry, I don't mean
to flinch - it's just… his hands
never had such a sweet touch
like yours. And please don't stop singing sweet
nothing's, for I am so used to
'you're nothing's

I am most frightened of those
who do not wear
their flaws on their sleeves
but,
around their necks.
They remind me too much
of myself.

I’m drowning
and you’re standing
on the cliff edge
describing the ripples.

Age is just
the journey that
the demons made - Emerging from underneath
the bed,
and crawling
into
my
head.

I honestly don’t believe in whole lot. But,
I believe the words you whisper in my ear,
I believe in your touch, and I believe in
you.
For once in my life, I’m certain that I believe in us, too

Your veins are a map
that I will always
want to explore

Close my eyes
and guide my fingertips
To a destined spot

I will charge in
and rain on your
parade
and only then
will you realise why
tornadoes are named
after people