I suppose you had me at "heeeey!",
But I'm still bouncing down the
Staircase of my own heart,  
One step at the time.

Your language is that of images.
Graphics. Oil on canvas. Interior
Design. Always knowing where
Something sits or hangs the most

Pleasing to the eye. I lean back with
Ink and infatuation, under only
Just enough light to write without
Being seen too clearly by keen eyes.

Two superheroes fighting the good
Fight. Saving days. Superpowered.
Telling the world how beautiful it is;
Mothering lovers loving like this.

If I run out of words, draw me another.
When your colours dry out, I will write
You of sunsets and stories,
Images and words go as hand in

Hand as our souls have since all eyes
Turned to the door through which
You floated, back straight, head
High, dotting the i

Of your beauty with a smile like a
Slap in the face of my well rehearsed
Image of 'calm and collected.'
Breaking the ice into crystals  

With one
Single
Word.   
"Heeeey!"