I've always told you to look at the moon dear, and ******* a kiss when you see it, because chances are, I've done the same for you. I've always found this small comfort in knowing no matter how far fate may drag us apart, we'll always share the same sky.
There are many moons in this solar system we live in, but ours is a special moon. You and I have always looked at the same side of it; I’ll always kiss the same side of the moon as you will, my dear.

It was like we were wrenched from Morpheus' grasp and shaken, until our eyes adjusted to the harsh light and our bones stopped their clattering. We make like tea bags and steep in hot water, letting the dregs of the past day settle at our feet.

We drag our feet through the quicksand pavement and trudge through the black-tar roads to work. War is rampant in the world and in people's hearts, we see murders on screen and deceit in the streets, we're observers to the horrors of humanity. All we can do is watch with pained eyes.

Our minds are barraged with arguments and advertisements, ethics have been defenestrated, our worries overpopulated, our patience stretched thin and beaten cacophonously. Our consciousness is beaten down with pessimism, our thoughts devoid of hope.

Our souls weep at the state of things, the martyrs gather in drones at St. Peter's gates. We do good only so people will be good to us, we greet each other with half-smiles, and half-truths. At the end of the day we drag home, our consciences heavy with the burden thrown upon us.

But we meet again, we kiss, we embrace, and we join hands and strip ourselves of these mundane garments, we’re a mass of hands and skin and long sighs and worn-out smiles,

and with tired eyes, tired minds, tired souls, we slept.

If, for every time I long to hold you in my arms, for every instance I wanted to kiss you, for every time my heart started to beat faster for you, for every night I've stayed up wanting you in my bed, for every time you've brought a smile to my face,

If each of these thoughts were flowers, this garden I walk through would be never ending.

I plant these "I love you"s in this earth I walk upon and they take root in the soil of my heart as well and grow with the permanence of a bough that has no intentions of letting anything uproot it's presence on this earth.

These flowers need the sun and I need you.

You are an ocean

I can look at you for ages and drown in your beauty, and I stare because I don't want to lose precious seconds of being a mere observer to your raw being.

Your beauty is immense and multifaceted, it exists on the surface and pleases the average passerby, but if you were to look deeper, past the ebbs and flows of the waves, there is a hidden beauty that only a few select are allowed to see.

I fell in head first, my dear. And I'd give up my feet and grow some gills to swim in your currents if I could.

I am a rocking-chair and I creak as I stumble into my bed and slowly pull my blankets atop me. I've spent my fair share of time splintering under the weight of worries and fears, stressing and un-stressing, and now my joints ache and my mind hurts.

A wave of relief floods through my body and I sink into this mattress, spent and worn. My thoughts, scattered as always, begin to settle like my body has.

And then the longing comes.

As I lay down, my initial exhaustion is somewhat sated, but then I turn to my side and find the hole on my bed that's shaped like you. I sigh deeply.

I begin to nod off, my exhaustion slowly taking over my desire for the mundane comfort of your skin.

The blankets move, seemingly of their own accord, and I am jolted awake, only to find you crawling into bed with me. My heart beats relief and a sleepy grin makes its way to my face as I greet you with kisses and caresses. I lay my head upon your heart and hold you close to me.

This, my dear, this is right. This is peace. Our breathing synchronized and and slow. You are beautiful and I am spent.

I want to make like paper and fold myself around you and together our bodies can make uncensored and passionate art and I can paint the beautiful canvas that is your body and let my tongue brush your delicate curves and each stroke is a token of lovely innocent lust and together we make a statue made without wax.

I want to be a part of your life
not something overtly dramatic but
like a subtle reminder every day.

I don't want to be a drag,
I don't want you to hate my memory,
Nor do I want to pester you with my permanence.

I don't want to be a scar.

I don't want you to think of me
and then have your stomach drop
and your feelings sink
and your heart cringe.

I want to be

The sunshine on your cheek when you wake up

The smell of freshly baked cookies out of the oven

A wave of nostalgia and warm reminders

A cup of tea and a good read

A comfortable blanket you can get lost in

I want to be a reason you smile. I want to be in your veins and give you hope and I want to change the way you see the world, people, and yourself. I want to give you ideas and...

I want you to be happy.
That's all, really.

I stand before you,
a man without wax.

Not perfect in any way, however.
I am pockmarked and scarred.

My sculptor goes by many names,
Pain is one, Experience another.

He has chiseled my hopes
But not my body.

I am a mangled rock at your feet,
weak and vulnerable.

I am no work of art,
Although your beauty is timeless.

I am made of stone,
Yet my heart beats on for you.

I stand before you,
a man without wax.

I am flawed and imperfect,
I do not have much to offer.

But everything I have,
Everything that I am, is yours.

Without wax.

I know you don't do well in the cold or in the rain;
You scramble around trying to save your hair
and you jabber nonsensically in the cutest way,
you shiver and you mumble and your hands and nose go cold.

But that's just a temporary, mundane blemish
on the beautiful temple that is your body,
one that a jacket can guard from, or a towel can wipe off.

But your heart, your fortress of a heart, is what I worry about.
I know it hurts too, I know all too well that it does.
I know that sometimes, you sit in a sea of blankets and warmth,
but your heart still aches with a horrible chill.
I know that although you may be sheltered,
it sometimes feels like your heart is stranded in a downpour
and your fortress cracks sometimes.

I don't know how to tell you or show you that
I will stand in a hurricane to hold an umbrella over your heart,
I will build you a home and a hearth to warm your bones,
when all you feel is broken and numb
I will hold you and kiss you until
all of your beautiful puzzle pieces are put back together.  

So don't mind the rain, sweetheart.
I'll always be
an umbrella for your heart.