In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out. Words burst in your essence and you carry their dust in the pores of your ethereal individuality.
My lovely little dove, please don't leave. Whatever you want you can have here, too, with me, we can share it. You're always leaving. Please stop leaving, it kills me every time.
I will not mention the last time I saw you.
My mouth, so far from yours, I said
I am afraid I will spend entire years
trying not to need you.
As if I wasn’t certain.
As if this wasn’t my confession.