There's something about waking up to your words,
or waking you up with mine, hearing the softness
in your breathing, voice doused in sleep, mine in dreams.
I'm lucky enough to capture those moments
seperately, lucky for doubled opportunities to drown
in this love; unlucky enough to not wake next to you.
But when we speak I feel like the schoolgirl
who swooned at that boy with the guitar
at the age of eleven; pure, innocent and silly.
When I stare at your low resolution picture,
one of the few I have, I can't help but imagine
how I'd love to cause that smile on you more often.
Because you're beautiful, and your mind's beautiful,
the shadows have caused you enough harm,
so dearest, please stop hiding, please give in to me.
I've never been good at love, or writing love poems.
All I know is that this chest is overflowing with feeling,
and that I must write, write, write about you, for you,
