I love the things she writes,
they make us feel close
for what seems
like an eternity,
yet sadly,
strangely remote.

She oozes pure sensuality,
such a devil-child,
crafts her words
in special patterns
meant to drive one crazy.

She heats my blood
with pure desire,
the connection buzzes
all of my senses,
mesmerizes me
with snippets
of her own brokenness.

She encrypts
her true feelings,
tells me revelations
& stimulates me
to my primordial core.

I see shooting stars
floating in my tea cup,
and as I drink her bitterness,
I lose my heart,
lightly touch my lips
imagining her sweet kiss.

Missing sunshine,
I wake up again
to her poetry
& feel so alone,
cold
yet still,
warm inside.