The way he looks at me
The way his voice resonates in my body
The way his skin feels upon mine
The way he can have deep conversations
The way he wants to keep learning
The way he makes me feel at ease
The way he let's me open myself fully
The way he makes the butterflies soar
The way **I love the idea of him

A poem is a wound, turned to words.

I am the leftover fragments of a violent dream you once had.
You can't seem to remember enough to know the details
but even still-
it leaves you haunted.