I do fear this will be too poetic, that I may be trying too hard to convey simple ideas for the sake of this
being read. But that’s because I am, and I will.
I will always try for you, my dear!
No matter the weather!
There are only so many times one can say the words,
“I love you, I miss you, I wish you were here.”
Your loving me has made me the poet I am. Never so many words, never so much honey.
I am so amazed at the constant love leaking from my pores and my mouth, as it is all pure. I have been
known to pour my heart out from time to time but never in truth such as this.
This love is like an orange.
Delicious, plenty, and all over my fingers.
And how lucky I am to be the one to peel you open, a tulip in early spring,
To leave you covered in sweat-dewdrops, without speech or breath, sprawled out on the bed.
I have never known a body so well. I have never wanted to know a body so well.
Translation: whenever you feel my hands on your skin, know that
I am memorizing.
Each freckle makes up a constellation that I can trace,
Each curve is my favorite shape.
Your silhouette is burned into my brain.
And please know,
if we could swap bodies for a day like we often joke about,
I’d leave you loving yourself as I love you.
And you are so generous with your love!
You are a giver by nature, and I try to give back.
My favorite gift from me to you is the beloved yellow dress.
You are lovely in it, to be sure, but more than anything, I see your comfort.
And you deserve that, my love.
I enjoy lighting your face up like I enjoy nothing else.
Not only for the selfish reason of knowing that it was me who made you smile,
But because you deserve every happy thing.
You are every happy thing!
You are the bird and the worm and the early morning.
The smoke exiting our lungs as we exhale, the back porch,
The considerate moth!
You are the cause of the feelings you cultivate in me, the feelings themselves.
The words, the truth.
You are the blanket of black when you turn out the light.
Your arms around me suffocate me with love that I had never felt before last February.
Your skin fills every one of my senses.
Your softness keeps me safe, makes everything warm and worth it.
We are puzzle pieces.
I often sit around and am scared at the prospect of you and me. I’m sure you do this as well. I think it
would be naive to expect this luck to last forever,
But I am young enough to hope and old enough, equipped enough, to gamble.
Hales (he/they) is a student at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee, studying Creative and Entertainment Industries and minoring in Music Business. He’s been a writer since elementary school, occupying many a notebook with short stories and personal narratives, and has taken a recent liking to poetry.
Featured image by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels
