You are lines fading in and out of my head
in every kiss, in every touch—
the stanza, like a heartbeat
in rhythm with my own.
Your eyes are metaphors,
speaking truths beyond their surface—
of passion, of places I’ve yet to explore.
Your hands are the comfort of a rhyme,
the expectation, the steadiness
I’ve now come to crave.
Your lips taste of stories I’m still learning to write,
chapters you teach me
and the ones we draft together—
eraser shavings on our fingertips
pencil smudges on our mouths.
