With this auburn eyes, I see
A love I solely dear
So golden it gleams with glee
Like songs of a balladeer

With this, I foresee
A purity so sincere
This heart could agree
That your love, I shouldn’t fear

In your hand, holds the key
To my heart, I endear
There’s nothing else that I plea
Just three word I want to hear

Let me know what it feels like
To feel your touch against mine
With no wonder to ever behold me
Of whether this might be real
For you touch is enough
To stir my soul of torrid love

He was a work of art she never really understood, and time came where he was a mess himself, and that was the moment she knew him completely.

He was summer, a combination so wonderful that she finds herself lost in his warmth, entangled in his embrace of a world that’s entirely new yet feels like home.

He is heaven himself. Losing herself in the clouds of his eyes and drowning in angelic word springing from his mouth like never-ending fountain of love itself.

He is love himself that drives her weak to the bones and the cause of sprawling sheets and invisible marks trailing from her heart like love bites only they can see.

He is the cause of delirious desires and untamed thoughts she could ever have, driving her insane in every kiss, in every touch, in every breath he gives in to her.

He is the world to her. Everything

To love, to hold, to breathe, to live,
Four things I vow and wish to do
On days you need me
On days you don’t
That I hope in those moments
My love for you will grow
In times I need it most
In times you feel it most

On lonely nights, my mind lingers
On thoughts that keep me up
On memories that keep on playing
Its moments drive me insane
Driven by desire to forget
My mind conspires with my heart
That seems to forget
How to forget

There are days in which my mind seeks poetry
Poetry of all forms and aspects,
Poetry in its truest, simplest form
In a form only I can feel

A poetry of free formity, balance, and stature
That equates to thoughts and structures
Of my free mind

There are days in which the poetry I seek doesn’t reach me
Just existing as a mere thought
Through which I wonder,
Will my poetry ever reach me?

In the lonely existence of my thoughts,
The only thing I hear is the soft, loud murmur of words exchanging,
The crunch of wrappers,
Opening
Closing
Wrapping
Being thrown,
The creaks of chairs being moved
To
There
And fro,
The sound of bag chains, trays chuted and orders done,
The calming sound of laughter being made and given.
In the lonely existence of my thoughts,
I found sereneness.
With a cup of cold coffee,
Water draining
Evaporating,
Leaving a circled mark of water on the table
And the light passing,
Gave a sense of serendipity,
With the voice of Adele from the speakers.
In my lonely existence,
The sound of low murmurs gave me assurance.
Of something real and human and true,
Of what it’s like to live and feel,
Of empathy and joy.
And on how my lonely existence can be not so lonely,
Even on a mundane fast food chain