I might be the only one who wonders what it would look like if daises transpired from your heart to your mouth.
If thunderstorms stop pouring from your eye sockets long enough to wonder if sunsets know what they’re competing with
if tides are aware of what they’re up against
in a world this large and with only one you
“What’s your favorite place on Earth?”
And lately I've been answering with wherever you are.
Earth has never been my favorite place anyway
and if all lips could kiss like we think they should
puddles would be lakes of pink and red and your teeth that I can’t seem to give up.
Tight skin and warm hands spare me a lie
when tongues drift into steps you never knew the language to before.
If I don't believe in heaven
and if young love is aimless
you are doing a **** good job.
I think that birds sing in the morning as soon as you open your eyes and I relate to them
I can only hope to be the flight of wings you hear in your dreams
I can only attempt to let this paper take shape of you.