i am
a romantic
cliché.

my eyes close
and yours
are there, shimmering
under beams of
dusty sunlight, blue
waves shushing
your lashes.

i want
moments
with you.

my heart calls out
for sunrises
sat on the hoods
of our cars
and sepia-tinted afternoons
on your bedroom
floor and
goosebumped midnights
beneath velvet skies.

i want your sleepy
grin, your hair
between my fingers. i
want your
lips on my skin.
i want your shuddering breath
in my lungs.

i would compose symphonies to
the beat of your pulse, if
you asked it of me.

the question is:
will you?