You may not be here right now,
In your tangible, distinct body
But I do stroke your hair
With every stroke of paintbrush I fill my canvases with;
I do whisper in your ears
All the words I write in my poems;
I do make love to you
All the nights I'm working on my dreams
And all the mornings I'm still working on my dreams,
Because the passion and love for them,
And for you,
Have made me lose track of time and place.
Some may think that this is not the way to love a person
But I, I believe that loving myself is the greatest form of loving you.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
You may not be here right now,
In your tangible, distinct body
But I do stroke your hair
With every stroke of paintbrush I fill my canvases with;
I do whisper in your ears
All the words I write in my poems;
I do make love to you
All the nights I'm working on my dreams
And all the mornings I'm still working on my dreams,
Because the passion and love for them,
And for you,
Have made me lose track of time and place.
Some may think that this is not the way to love a person
But I, I believe that loving myself is the greatest form of loving you.
