It is Sunday morning
The light leaking from the curtains lands on my eyelids
Upon just waking up I feel I am being blinded so I turn over
Warm breath kisses the tip of my nose and I see you lying there next to me completely at peace with in your gentle unconsciousness
I pull my hand from under the covers and glide my fingers down your cheekbone
You smirk and open your eyes
I have never wanted to go swimming in the mornings but when I look in your eyes the desire swallows me whole
Their shades blue green drowning my words
I know exactly what love is when you look at me
And there's something about the way you kiss so lazily in the mornings
Like last night's dream is spilling out of your mouth
You whisper to me good morning and my stomach takes flight with butterfly wings tickling my insides
Because your voice sounds a lot like a love song
Once, I could not think of love without thinking of a plane crash
Trained myself to keep distance from romance
When a friend would introduce me to a boy I learned resist making a memory of his cologne
Because sometimes you don't see, the best thing that has ever happened to you is sitting right there under your nose
There will be hell to pay for the way we love
Disjoining ever love story resting in antique ambience
We kiss with our mouths open
We have kept it complicated
We have kept it impossible
It's that hushed conversation that happens when you love someone and it's reckless, when you watch them life up their shirt and die
I want you unfolded
I want to untie you
I want to touch you like pen to paper
I want to brush the knots out of your hair
And work the knots out of your back
I am interested in the way you take your coffee, what makes you laugh, what makes your pupils dilate, what keeps you going on
Love is not just made up of syllables or words that sound nice
Love is more than clandestine love letters and sharing umbrellas in the rain
Love is Sunday mornings waking up next to you
Love is the feeling of your lips curving into a smile when they are on my skin
Love can heal your asymmetry, it can piece you back together
It is Sunday morning
And I am in love as I'd always hoped I'd be

More often than not
I simply fall apart
Just take a look
At my poor fragile heart
The suffering I've endured
A form of high art
But with you?
I've got a fresh new start

vying for oxygen
fighting for air
it felt like that when your hands were in my hair
but now you're gone and it feels like you didn't even care

The ocean is calling,
calling for me,
he wants me to
get lost in him.
To join the white foam,
to go and say hello.
.
Nothing's here to stop me,
only the cold dry wind
of some cold and silent place
that lures me into the dark,
to some colourless scene,
to some lifeless landscape.
.
I try to run, to call out,
"I'm coming! Wait!"
But all I see is them leaving,
without me, leaving me here
on a wasted island,
by myself.
.
So I stay here,
without anyone,
waiting in the nothingness,
waiting nothing,
only the silence interrupts
all these thoughts in my mind.
.
These void and empty thoughts,
rough, cold and dry,
as the day on this island,
dark, wet and cold,
like all the nights here,
enlightened only by a dim hope.
.
That someday, someone
will come along
to take me back to the world
and end this loneliness,
erasing the memory of my time
alone here on the island of my mind.