I write the worst happy poems and right now you make me want to write about eagles with butterfly wings planting rose seeds in the clouds of heaven and I don't even know what that means.
But mostly I want to write about your glasses, how they serve as night sky to the moon behind your eyes, I see them follow me across the room.
I want to write about your glasses, how they rest on your ears like lazy man lips whispering something sweet, I heard them say you look beautiful today.
I want to write about your glasses, how every time you take them off my heart skips a beat cos I know what's coming, I learnt the hard way not to stare directly at the sun, but staring is the only way to fall blindly in love.
I want to write about your glasses, about the marks they leave on the bridge of your nose and how they look like where you've saved all my breaths you've taken away.
I write the worst happy poems and your glasses are putting a smile on my face, so when I say eagles with butterfly wings plant rose seeds in the clouds of heaven, I guess what I mean is not all roses grow from the concrete, sometimes all it takes is something strong and beautiful to show you what heaven feels like, something like you.
