You're a ship and I'm a wreck-
Our love met a titanic end
Still, we'd sail around the terms
Of being close mates

Too see you again;
You can still claim a spot
By the window seat of my heart,
Gazing straight into my soul.

Gray hairs sprouting up like testimonies
The smoke from burning bridges makes it hard to see
If I can walk back across to the other side
Just to tell you I always cared, affectionately

Leaves never fall the same way twice
To see them drop again, a kaleidoscope in descent
Pieces that come together to make a new puzzle
Under the tree, between the jigsaw creases are we both in?

Her intellect, an endless well of curiosity, unfolds in layers—always surprising, ever-wise. She carries a calm like the wind, her words a soothing balm to every encounter. Her presence sends ripples through my mind, lingering in the frequencies of my thoughts long after we part.

In her eyes, I see myself most clearly—my reflection brighter the nearer we stand. Those glass-like eyes, piercing and full of depth, bring me clarity with every inch we close.

Her touch, a quiet force, healing as it moves through me. It is soft and intentional, pulling me deeper into her embrace, where I never want to leave.

Her lips glisten like a secret waiting to be shared, and I’m drawn to them, wanting nothing more than to taste the moment between us.

Her voice—recognizable even from across the room—is a melody that lingers. She is a perfect harmony, a song etched into the fabric of my being, whispering of times when life was clear, pure, and full of promise.

She wears sweaters and glasses, her hair often tied in a bun. Her smile carries echoes of a younger time, an innocence and depth intertwined. Yet, every day, her beauty surpasses—not because of how she looks, but because of how effortlessly she inhabits herself, as if her presence is a kind of art no one else could recreate.

She is sharp, radiant, and endlessly fun. Her life, her own masterpiece in progress, is the most beautiful work of art I’ve ever known. A proud and fearless bisexual woman, she moves through the world with unapologetic authenticity, her values etched deeply into every choice she makes. Her open heart, unwavering integrity, and belief in living life as her truest self have inspired me to embrace the same.

She loves with a patient passion, a devotion that history could take notes on. To know her is to want to know her endlessly—her beauty inside and out, a universe I could explore forever.

She is everything beauty aspires to be—her courage, her values, and her love, all a beacon of light.

She is the most beautiful woman in existence, radiant in mind, body, and soul.

— Sincerely, Boris

-What joy you give to me!

Beautiful as always and a heart as pure as gold,

Just like the stars of heaven, you're a sight to behold!

I used to connect each freckle with kisses;
Creating a new piece of art across your body;
Mapping out a different route each time,
Getting slowly closer to your destination.


— Sincerley, Boris

Don’t clear every hurdle in their way,
or hover close above.
They’ll never find their own way,
if we mistake fear for love.

It’s not our place to pave their path,
or “snowplow” and “helicopter” away each test.
But to stand beside them and watch them grow,
as they learn to do their very best.

We raise them not for ease, but good,
with hearts both kind and strong.
For in each challenge they will grow,
and learn where they belong.

Let’s guide our children, but let them lead,
and trust them as they make mistakes.
For they must pave a lane for themselves,
to be able to fix what they break.


— Sincerely, Boris

Like a weightless, wordless mime,
like a baby bird watching mother fly,
I’ll follow your lead like a dancer,
copy your moves to avoid the red laser.

New to this world and in over my head,
you’ll hold my hand as we walk the thread.
You’ll explain the rules and guide my hand,
as I hold my breath and remember to stand.

Weak in the knees and warm in the heart,
I can’t rush the finish before we even start.
I’ll slow my pace and keep the tempo
and caution what feelings are prone to grow.

Remember all the bad days?
How they would shift sideways?
The two player mind games,
The nicknames, and proclaims,
The blames, claims, the shame.
And we always agreed on one thing,
Everyday was never quite the same.

The good days were memorable,
remarkable, but often forgettable.
Putting you up on a pedestal,
Was my way of being humble,
Even now, as I stumble and fumble,
To remember the cuddles, the struggles,
the subtle mumbles, as time crumbled.

Those days were neither good nor bad,
Neither purely happy nor purely sad.
They were days we lived, felt alive,
Though short-lived, somehow we survived.
And one day we will strive to revive;
To reclaim the days together.
Refusing surrender, remaining tender,
Always and forever; together —
In our hearts.


— Sincerely, Boris