There is something in the wind and I cannot let you go.
Hold my hand, take a breath
There is someone in my bed and I cannot forget your moans.
Erase my mind, wipe my cries
There are some times I see you and I kiss you on your nose.
*Tell me you love me.
You are my home.

There are 1,013,913 words in the English language, and not one of them describes how I feel about you, about us.

Maybe its because I lost my words when I first kissed you, when I placed my kiss on them strawberry preserve lips so in the future when you asked me,  ‘hunny, where is the last place you saw them?’ I could answer –‘in you’

But I’ll pretend, I’ll play dumb, and search for them like I never knew the universe lived beneath your tongue, as I never want to find them words in case in finding them I misplace you.

And I never want to lose you. To find you in my box of lost and found on a Sunday afternoon amongst tattered dictionaries that are filled with love poems I can no longer speak.
Full of pronouns that hide bener dust which you make angels in, changing he to she, him to her, spreading your arms to chase the rabbits that jump out from these open sheets.
And seeing you lying there, I am both lost and found, no longer bound by the binding of those before you. All I can say is ‘ darling, the Greeks didn’t see you coming’.
There are not enough letters in the alphabet to write this love poem. To assemble a word that describes the way you smile at me, like how the moon draws pictures of the shore, or the way mountains bend to kiss the clouds.

You leave me speechless.
Its hard to believe, but its true.
Sometimes we forget to listen to that pivotal silence that the orchestra plays. Composed in exquisite harmony to ****** suspense through an empty script, in a pause, a breath; an instrumental craftsmanship that maneuvers you through that moment where you enter the protagonists’ kiss.

That’s how I feel about you. About us.
There are 1,013,913 words in the English language, and only one of them stands out to me: you.

My heart is a broken mirror.
You smashed it when I first saw your smile
And I cling on to the pieces
Hoping my bad luck will never run out.

These scars are brush strokes of another girls despair.
She spent Summer nights drawing lines between myself and her,
The warmth on her back the only memory left in a cardboard box of misery;
It reminded her she was alive,
A reminder she longed to delete in a shrinking phonebook that breathed out numbers to balance her life.
Lost and found in a pound of broken daydreams.
Each time I catch someones stare I remember her fractured smile,
The only tie I have left that I cannot cut.

She saw a poster on the tree down the road
The sort left for years, forgotten and alone
And holding her tears she tore down the face
That was no longer lost, for it was her own.

We are a sketchpad swing set.
You push and I keep coming back,
Drawn to you with a force I don’t understand,
You have shades in you I’ll never quite get.
You have seasons in your smile I want to forget.
But even if you push me towards the stars
I’ll always return with the brightest one,
And open arms.

Interlocking fingers
Candyfloss tongue
Sea salt lips
Water in my lungs
Holding my breath
To sink inside
Her love comes and goes
Like the love of the tide.

My body is a canvas
And you are the artist,
Making art in the night
And that's how it started.
So paint me our future
With brushes of scarlet.
And hang it on the wall
For the days we have parted.

Forget me never
when I tell you
I am waiting for you
unmade
each night to lie your head
as only then do I rest,
dreaming words
unsaid.