You.

Your smile is a work of art.
But not one that I could hang above my fireplace.
No, one of incomprehensible beauty
that I could only admire from a distance
in some hipster gallery in Soho
and only dream of owning.

Your eyes hold constellations in their sparkles.
Though not ones that I could easily pick out of any night sky.
No, yours are from a whole different galaxy,
awe-inspiring yet untouchable,
ones that only exist for the privileges of NASA’s finest telescopes.

Your body is an ocean.
One so deep and enchanting,
that the idea of swimming in you is overwhelming.
For now, I will just paddle my toes in your warm, clear blue shores,
and allow your gentle waves to wash over me in indelible silence.

Your lips tell soft stories,
weave words out of thin air.
But not any that I could write down, or dare to repeat.
For their beauty is ephemeral, evanescent
in their nature
and my amateur tongue could not do them justice.

You are
all at once
magnificent and all-consuming.
Yet somehow,
still mine.

home

It’s mad
that it’s not even been 365 days yet
and yet
you feel like home.

And not like “four walls and a roof over my head” home
like a place deep within my soul feels like it belongs again
and I don’t feel so alone anymore.

You’re a warm cup of tea to my cold hands in winter,
You’re an extra blanket thawing the still frozen parts of me,
You’re the first sip of a cold beer on a hot summer’s day; refreshing and reminiscent all at once.

You’re an old book, with turned down pages to mark favourite spots,
Your body is poetry that I know line by line, off by heart.
You’re the last satisfying piece of a jigsaw puzzle; completing the picture.

No, I don’t want to say I was half a person before I met you,
because I like to believe we are born complete.
But you certainly made me realise I was living a half-life before you,
but unaware of it.

You think you’ve experienced love before,
you think you know what that word means,
but then someone comes along and
completely rewrites the whole script.

For me, that person is you.

You are all things that are good in this world,
and I still don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.

You are the coffee that wakes me up,
and the warm bath that winds me down,
and above all,
you are the call of the seagulls,
that finally remind me
I am coming home

to you.

not a poem, just love – day one

I’ll pick you up at the station, 12:18
We’ve been sending each other nervous selfies
I’ll have our playlist on in the car, and when we finally see each other
serendipitously,
our song comes on.
The one that’s been spinning round our heads for weeks.

You’re in my car now and I can’t quite believe it,
and I don’t know what confidence possesses me
but I say “come here” and lean over the parking brake
and kiss you for the first time.

I don’t think it’s even been 30 seconds since setting eyes on you,
but already something feels like it’s clicking into place.
A huge sigh of relief.
Or coming up for air.

I’ll drive you to the lake,
and even though I’m a nervous driver
with you in the car I feel safe.
You’ll laugh at my terrible maneuvers,
and tell me I’m doing great
(even though we both know I bumped the curb).

We’ll walk around the lake,
hand in hand, like we’ve spent the last month dreaming of,
stopping to kiss each other on the forehead or the cheek
and to finally say “I love you” out loud.

We’ll get back in the car,
and you’ll laugh and cheer me on as I rap the entirety of perfect gentleman to you on the journey back
to my place
to my bedroom.

My landlady isn’t home.
Thank god.
And we’re finally alone.
No screens and earphones,
real life and in person
and neither of us can barely contain ourselves.

We’ll punctuate our kisses with muffled “I love you”s
we’ll tentatively edge closer to each other,
we’re both giddy-drunk, swimming through a teenage-dream-like haze of
clothes and then not clothes
lips frantically covering every inch of skin possible
making up for lost time
until we’re both spent
but still wanting more.

And still wanting more is how we have to leave it,
as I drive you to the station at 6pm,
as we reluctantly kiss goodbye one more time, just one more time…

and that, that was the first date ♥

this is us

Your hand in mine
Our fingers intertwined
We’re both in too deep
And we hold on tight
So we don’t drift apart
As we drift off to sleep

Lips parting soft lips
Delicate, sweetness
You taste like fresh morning
Like nothing could come between this

Noses touching
Eyes out of focus
And I dont care anymore
Soft whispers between the sheets
I’ll count the ways I love you
But we’re not keeping score

Accidentally saying i do
Has become a bit of an in-joke
But we’re not joking anymore
I think we both already know

An ember
Turned to a spark
Then a wildfire
Through the forest of my haunted heart

Palm to palm
And cheek to cheek
Tangled in bedsheets
This is us now
You and me ♥️

soft / bruises

love bites.
the bruises are lingering
on my chest, my hips, my back
a reminder, of candlelight dwindling
and silk ties
and too much pink wine.

but there are bruises still
on my self-esteem
on my heart
deep in my soul
and love’s keen sting
has left its indefinite mark.

does this mean i’ve remained soft, like i wanted,
through this tempest?
not hardened
still easy to bruise and still tender?

we both sidestep 3 consecutive manhole covers
wish on eyelashes
wish on 11:11
cross our fingers and pinky swear, we’re lovers
and love bites, but
is this it?
and am i finally doing it right?