.she writes.

she writes poems for me
because the words can never seem to fall from her lips
yet the ink that stains her paper holds more weight,
more truth,
than I’ve ever heard her mutter out loud
my intense desire to hear those words, rather than run my fingers over flat black marks piques her interest
for she’s incapable of living and loving out loud
all her feelings are trapped between two surfaces
while she’s a prisoner in her thoughts
and I often wonder how we would be, together, if she was free

.desire.

close your eyes so I can feel your soul from the inside out
see me without looking at me
touch me without your skin against mine
I’m lost in the sound of your voice
and when I’m not near, I imagine your lips parting so that
my fingertips graze the softest parts moments before I kiss them
I crave each second, each minute, to watch the want in your body unravel
threads of your heart, pulled back together when we merge
so beautiful you are, that this ache is like a wretched thorn in my heart
but I’ll bleed it dry just to spend one more moment in your presence
passion breaks the silence between our paused speech and builds a bridge
where we meet again for the first time
I want your forever
because you are mine