I feel like writing a poem
about you.
But instead I think I'd rather just stare
at you all day
and listen to your voice
lull me into a land where it's just
you and me.

Something about you makes me
do some incredible things,
and look -
here's a poem about you.

I want to be able to show you the empty places in my soul.
To show you the space
the vastness
the wide expanse
that has been longing for you.

And here you are
- and what an excitement to know that
you love my abyss

Infinite as galaxies unexplored,
nameless for the colours of beauties unknown,
a frozen moment pondering a description.
A silent breath that escapes your lungs
during the intervals where I breathe you in.

I want to capture what you are in my hands
so that I can examine intimately  
I want to lay you open so that I can see
all that you are.

- a complex mixture of bone, muscle,
a pounding heartbeat, electrical impulses
and nerves
specifically designed to be
a life
alongside mine.

When the summer dripped through my fingers
Like the last drops
Of the ocean on my skin
he smiled at me, a sweet and warm smile,
And whispered
"Love my sweet Winter for me"

So the cold winds approached
And the leaves withered, died, and were cast away
And Winter mourned
Knowing the deaths written because of her name

But I, following the whispered guidance of my favourite passing time,
Embraced the
cold nights wrapped in warmth
the icy winds pushing me closer to those near to my heart
the harsh tear drops which refreshed, replenished, revived my dry and barren soul

And Winter, noticing the love
Warmed up a little each day
And on her last day
Breathed a warm sigh

And whispered, "I love you, and thank you for loving me"

and I wish with my entire being
that I could go back in time
and return to that
little girl
making daisy chains with her daddy

And I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be. But why try
to change me? Why not just leave instead of wanting me to
become someone else?

But I don't want you to leave; so I'll keep changing myself
to be exactly what you'd prefer.

Although
My eyes will never be hazel (I know you'd love me forever, then) they're only boring old brown
And my hair will never be perfectly wavy (you'd never even think of leaving me, then) I've got a wild nest of tangled curls

but I can always paint my nails red
and stay pretty
for you.

(You might still leave me, then)