I wanted to write you a poem,
but there were no words for: "You."

And even if i could pen a thousand down,
it still be inaccurate,

Like studying the beauty of the butterflies in my stomach
after they’ve been pinned to slides.

You are something Mystical, something Fluttering,
something Alive.

Perpetual Explosions:
more golden than the sunlight,


and there are no words for: "You."