I wake up to your eyes on me,
Your lips close to my cheek.
Under the sheets, slowly,
It's my hands that yours meet.
Entwining beneath the fabric,
You hold me closer.
I inhale, exhale your morning scent,
It makes the dust particles stir.
My fingers run themselves through your hair,
Like how you keep running in my head.
To fall asleep in your arms,
to fall in love again,
I never want to leave this bed.

Does a heart shatter like glass?
Does it break into even pieces, or become sharpened shards?
I could be enjoying life
But even my calloused hands bleed
As I pick up the pieces and try to move on

Is the soul transparent like glass?
For any pure poet this is always the hope
I could be enjoying life
But instead I try to reconcile
Every mistake, every wrong turn, that I have made

And I hope my words become music
Because
Artist and musicians
Are poets trying to paint their pain
Using different shades of blue