Lying on the edge of the world in the middle of your bed I swear I feel infinite. Baby, Please, can we stay like this forever? Looking in your eyes has me going crazy. I trace the freckles on your face and run my hands through the wet curls laying on your head. With tangled fingers, shimmered minds and glowing hearts. I never knew love could feel like this. Like the whole world stops spinning just so me and you can pause and dance. My life has begun to feel like a movie ever since I found my place on your arm. I can see the light leaks of old film just looking at your soft face. Oh love, I find myself having to refrain from taking you far away to an old hillside town, I don't mean to be selfish but oh god how I wish you were all mine. my brown eyed baby, no one will ever compare to the radiance you have shown this vacant soul. Amour Amour my darling.

a conscious thought stated:
don't write another love poem
but his words are vanilla to my ears
the smoothest silk texture
spun from his consonants and vowels
running from his lips and melting over my flesh
you can see where i get distracted...

because infatuation and intimacy intertwine
spinning a tangled web
woven from the strongest thread
and your fingers are musicians magic
strumming on my heartstrings
playing chords on my heart
carrying a tune that would make Celine Dion quiver.
it made me quiver
but there aren't six degrees of separation
from lust to love
there's one degree
but a thousand steps in between

the chemists couldn't explain
why our chemistry combined
in such an intricate way
and all the experiments were inconclusive
because only we are the mad scientists behind our insanity

and while the scientists tinkered
the mathematicians drew up an equation
insert me and you
into x and y
but x and y don't define hidden variables
that even we had to search to find
the eraser's been rubbed raw
against the paper with a hole in the center
they'll never solve their invented equation
because mathematics aren't involved

just a finely designed road map
tracing your veins and mine
from fingertip to fingertip
eye to eye
an artists divine sight
i'll be the paint to your brush
your lily pads to Monet
if your words are paint
my body's a blank canvas

i'm a writer
but even i'm struggling to find the words
that may as well be hidden in catacombs
but we don't need Edgar Allen Poe
to quoth the raven "nevermore"
nevermore shall i search for this unicorn of words
mythical in that they don't exist and yet somehow you do

we'll resurrect Charles Dickens
because he's the only man who would even make an attempt
but even his hands are trembling
with the pressure mounting of a lost word and a quivering pen

thunk

as we watched him dissolve into the pen and ink that created him

this conscious thought beckoned forward in my head
do not write another love poem just yet
for who will scribe the words to fit our facets
when the skins withered, wrinkled and dry
but our hands still twine like grape vines

maybe by then they'll have written another edition of the dictionary