You, you are wonderful, spilled across pages of wonderful.
You, you have been torn sheets scattered across white crisp blankets longing to be accompanied.
You, you are hope tied strictly around index fingers.
You are a carefully sealed envelope thrown carelessly into mailboxes empty with everything but void.
You are precisely applied lipstick smeared on pursed lips,
nervous the red will smudge off your skin and become permanent on someone else.
Scared that, even if you kiss other people, the red will always stay.

I have found that I, am all but shorelines and beach waves and sandy toes and yours.
I am poised fingers stacked inbetween one another,
strategically trying not to place a hand on yours.