I'd rather have this memory than her hair on my chest.
I'd rather have this ghost than her sweat on my lips.
Rather have your perfect everything, than her simple normalcy.
Rather have my fingers grasp the air where your palms were, than have hers pressed to mine.
I would rather feel you
than give her tongue and my lust another second's thought.
It is comfort.
It is knowledge that your existence is simply, beautiful.
It is quiet, soft, lovely, delicate, sweet, creeping love.
The kind you do not notice until you see her silhouetted against the snow
and your body aches.
Your heart responds, suddenly awake.
Your eyes translate the image into a blizzard of thoughts,
matching the flurries, stacked piles on the ground.
The same flurries that catch, contain, and reflect
a thousand bulbs that cover hair, eyes, lips that are turning.
Connect with yours.
You always write the most heart-breakingly beautiful love poetry :)I dig it, and am impressed because love poetry is tricky to accomplish delicately for me! haha.
ReplyDeletereally like the "quiet, soft, lovely, delicate, sweet, creeping love.The kind you do not notice until you see her silhouetted against the snow
and your body aches." <---- lovely :)