i love how ridiculous we are.
i love how when our eyes meet, it's not a staring contest but to see who'll pull away first.
the blush that grows on your cheeks is in clusters.
you let me hold your hand.
i love how ridiculous we are.
wine glasses filled with apple juice,
strawberries,
little sandwiches that i'll be too nervous to eat but i would for you.
i would eat for you.
i love how ridiculous we are.

I love you
and your lips
that taste like strawberry,
your hair that waves
quietly through the colors
of the summer wind,
your voice
that sounds so deep
and drowns every possible
thought I can make
making things less
until nothing is left but you.

I love you
and the way you say
these three sweet words
is like a night with endless fireworks
that I wish will never end.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.