Illuminating light
from a booklight in my bed
I do not read; I write
of the feelings from my chest
I’m flying like a kite
and you’re ******* with my head
We always say goodnight
when we lay ourselves to rest

I am there
in your bed
or we’re out on our bikes

and I’m there
in your mind
more often than you’d like

I’m addic
ted to you
and the things that you say

I just don’t
understand
How you make me feel this way

So baby
please just come
here, I’ll make you feel fine

because I
am all yours
and you are all mine.

I write about you and I
and the things I wish we were

I write about the things we've seen
and the things I wish I heard

I write about how you make me feel
and I hope you feel the same

I write about the laws of love
while you write the rules of the game.

Love is merely a word which
cannot describe how I feel about you.
For the loveliest of verses cannot
make me smile the way you do.
Because you, my dear, deserve far
much more than those four
letters which are the
understatement of love.

Love is but a summary; a
generalization of romance, and
you, my dear, deserve far much more.

I promise you love
to the power of a million horse drawn
chariots on a midsummers day.
I promise you love
of the plentitude of all the acorns
gathered by the squirrels for winter.
I promise you the love
of the first song sung by the doves in spring.

You are the beauty of the first snowfall,
and the relief of the last.
You are the thaw, the buds on the trees.
You are the first golden leaf.
The sun may not shine as bright as your eyes;
the moon may never again light my night.
You are the soil in which I plant my roses,
you are the ground on which I plant my feet.

I know I shouldn’t assume
that you wrote that song about me
the way I shouldn’t complain
with all your lights around me.

And I know I shouldn’t worry
when you stay out too late
the way I shouldn’t nag
about the food on your plate

Well maybe this is different
is it ever all the same?
Well maybe you should leave
the same way that you came

When all we built has crumbled
and all we cooked has turn stale
I hope someone’s around
to listen to your tale.

It’s a tale of heartbreak
which would sing me to sleep.
We would awake in the morning
to all you can eat.

It’s a tale of heartbreak
that our children will enjoy.
A story with no title,
from the state of Illinois.

Striking future houses
with future lighting bolts.
Tickling future feet
with future feathers.
Winding
and turning
and stretching
and dreaming
We are the youth.
Haunting.
Future.
Nightmares.

The rain falls slow the air is cloudy
You don't have a care in the world.
The lights are dim the fire's burning
We're perfect alone in this room.
The snow is deep the wind is nippy
You ***** and you cry and you mope.
Your toes are cold your tears are frozen
I just want you to go home.
It's steamy and sweaty and sticky
But we don't seem to mind.
Get me a little more alcohol
And I think we'll be just fine.
The air is crisp the colours are rich
We're holding hands in the park.
I guess we've had some ups and downs
But I love you with all of my heart.