this love feels like the oldest tree, that has lived many lives and still has many more to live; that looses its leaves at fall but revives at spring; that you could try to explain with poetry but you never actually will
what an artist you are your touch is like poetry, your caress like a brushstroke, as if my skin was a canvas and you were so inspired you couldn’t keep your hands tied
when i see the moon it reminds me of your eyes and the sun at rise reminds me of your touch; the sky is my dream and it reminds me of you so please, do not take it away from me no matter what you do