I love you to the moon and back, to the ends of the Galaxy, to the tops of the universe and no star can stand in my way.

I fell in love with the little things you do
Like when you whisper "I love you"
It sends shivers through my soul
And now my heart shines like gold.

If I could draw a picture to describe Heaven,
Then I would but I can't and maybe that's Gods will,
The grace of beyond shouldn't be bestowed upon all eyes,
But with the preview I saw with my departed loved ones,
In that tiny white room
With my grandfather in the corner,
Observing...
Curious for someone who is yet to be departed.

Everyone says I'm too pretty for him.
I don't care, since when have looks ever mattered to me? And he's not even ugly so take your opinion and shove it up your ***.
Thanks.

I write my poems out of despair and now that I am happy, my inspiration has vanished. No matter how poetical I may be.

I have no more inspiration.
A forced line...
Trying to describe my love for you...I come to a blank.
And that's when you know a poet it truly in love. They take your words away as well as your breath. You love them unconditionally to the point you cant romanticize it down on paper anymore because the magic you feel and see when you're with them cant be described.
The words you force for them are sub-par and inadequate.
The poems are an unwritten scripture to the one you worship in the bedroom.

Sin like an angel.