I find comfort in my sleep
when my thoughts think of you
So enraptured in your existence
My love feels boundless
in every thought that speaks of you
When in reality, you're away
being held comfortably in the arms of your lover
I fear that I must be insane,
here alone thinking of you

Those precious moments I've shared with you
Eternally trapped in the depths of my heart,
where they'll forever be hidden from you
I fear that I'm addicted,
obsessed with loving you
Love deep enough to make me sink
O dearest friend,
              my beloved,
                        *my most treasured thought to think...

My ear hurts.
That's nothing new.
You're beautiful,
and that's old news,
but I'd listen to it every day
with this bleeding mess on the side of my head.

I'm cramping.
Guess it's that time of the month.
But I love you every time of the month,
every day, every hour, minute, second
breath

Heartbeat.
It sounds in my veins and reminds me of you,
lingering under my skin and keeping me alive.

Beat.
Beat.


*Beat.

Two months of love
and of lust
and of slowly
becoming something I'd
never thought I
would become...

happy.

I am fascinated by your existence
and want to take care of you
but in my caring
I must fulfill your needs
not what I want your needs to be
and my love cannot be what I want
it must be what you want-
that's what love is.
I am fascinated by your eyebrow bones
and your hips
and the way you roll your eyes
I am fascinated by how you sleep
and how you wake up
I am fascinated by your love for cartoons
and your small fingers entwined with mine
I am fascinated by all of you,
and I will write you a million poems
or swim across the ocean
or dance naked for you,
and every hair on your head is a line in my poetry
and the way your ear curves is greater than whitman,
a mind more elegant than cummings,
hands more deft than hughes;
I will write you a hundred thousand billion poems,
but that doesn't mean I can have you,
because that's not what you want-
my desires are always second to your desires,
and that's what love is.