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3am
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
3am
I'm not really good at this
and by this I mean
the 3am conversations
on your bed
after we decided that
life was far too short
and our bodies couldn't
stand to be apart anymore
or maybe I mean the way
we'd sit and watch
the stars
in hopes that one day
we'd become them
maybe I'm not so good
at writing down how I feel
or showing it
but what I do know is that
you were my cup of coffee
on a cold, bitter morning
and I happen to find that
I'm not good at much
besides
loving you
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
It's 5AM;
you're trying really hard
not to wake her sleeping form
in the bed next to you

She smells like every dream
that you've ever had
and couldn't put into words

She feels like the home
that you've been searching
for, for years -
that one perfect place
where you felt kind of okay

She looks like a Spring day
that you experienced as a kid;
fresh, new and blooming
with colour in her cheeks -
the best day of your life

She sounds like
every single compliment
that you never learned to accept

She tastes like the difference
between sugar and salt
although, she can make
salt taste like sugar without
even trying

The sun is filling the room
through the cracks in your curtains
and the day is already starting
to linger of her scent

She is every one of your
five senses come to life
and she is right beside you,
right now
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
Her hair is falling all
around her face;
like the waterfall
you remember visiting,
as a kid

Her skin tastes like sugar;
like the lollipops you
used to buy weekly,
as a kid

(she gives you the same
feeling you used to get
when you ate too much sugar)

Her words sound so similar
to the park swings that
you used to share with
every moment that you
thought would last forever,
as a kid

Her hands feel like
the scrapes on your knees
you used to get when you
fell on the same road
that you thought would
end up leading you somewhere
different,
as a kid

She reminds you of
the flower that you picked
in a field among a million
of the same flowers
because there was always
something different about it,
as a kid

You were preparing for her
your entire life
and you didn't even realize it
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
You used to smell like
cologne and cigarettes;
that once described my home -
my home was broken and trembling
but just like a mosaic,
it always ended up being
a beautiful masterpiece

Now you smell like
haunting memories
that need to be cleansed
with holy water
before they posses my mind
and make my heart
fall through the floor

I frequently find myself
drowning in your chest,
as if it is an ocean
and I don't know how
I am ever going to learn
to swim again
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
I like:
books and
rainy days and
cuddles and
holding hands
and temporary forevers
and messy beds
and poetry and
sunshine through cracks in curtains and
you - mainly you
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
Poetry in the way she talks
about the things
that she loves
and you're just hoping
that one of those things
are you

Poetry in the way
her eyelashes are falling
on her face,
the same way that you're falling
for her

Poetry in the way
her chest moves
while she's breathing

Poetry in the way
her hands touch you

Poetry in the way
that her freckles
are placed on her face,
like stars
that are begging
to shine just as bright
as the sun

She is a pretty poem;
you're just a mess of words
(and emotions)
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
Short Poem:
I miss the touch
of your lips
and fingers
on my body.
Tasmin Howells Jan 2014
I fall in love with the simple things
like the way:
people always seem so helpless,
the ocean crashes,
rain sounds on a rooftop,
you smile,
colours are seen,
silence can sound like nothing
and everything,
the sun always seems to
reflect off of your hair,
3AM makes you feel like
someone else,
a heart sounds,
foot steps can become so distinct,
some thoughts are never put
into words,

I fall in love with the most simple things,
you happen to be extremely simple

— The End —