Call me naive.
Blinded by a honeymoon phase
and sickly sweet jest
Because I want to keep
this blindfold
pulled down over my eyes.
I don't want to know
what time it is—
day or night, stars and light —
but this comfort
wraps my body and glues me to my bed.
He likes me
He likes me, not
the me I always try and hide behind
but the me that's real.
And he's honey sweet
and golden feat,
how I managed to find him
I'll never know.
He tells me once
twice and again, actually,
that they couldn't have made
a better half for him in a lab
if they had tried.
I'd lift my blindfold to see
you and your gorgeous honey blue eyes
shining through the dark like a moon,
and what we bake together
might just be the most delicious cake maybe ever.
If my words were sugar
I could have told him then
and there, his lips on mine
tasted sweet.
Like everything he says to me.
But I'm bad at baking cakes with no sugar
and all the store had was keyboards and pens
so I wrote him this instead;
To my perfect other half,
Each joke you make resounds
laugh for laugh, I sculpt you a present
epitaph commemorating you... for you
with words, to say
I think...
I might love you?