draw me in notes in your books of poetry

on your yellowed paper, singing

like I could be a goddess and it kills me

because I know I could never be the

goddess you deserve because my music

would never match up to the sound of your guitar.

I save my smiles for you, keep the most special ones

tucked inside the hollows of my cheeks, so that

on winter days when the sun hides behind whirlwind clouds and you

hide under the sheets, I can light up your world, even

if it's just for a little bit. You mean

that much and I swear that if you told me

to never ever smile at anyone but you

I would gladly answer yes before you finished taking a breath.

My eyes are so dark in yours and I can see what you see

when you see yourself reflected in the black.

I'm constantly remembering when you told me you see

some kind of infinity in them and it's a sign that I would never perish.

'But everyone dies,' I argued.

'Not you. babe. You'll flow through the veins of the cosmos

long after your body has wilted away.'

I wanted to ask if you would flow with me,

if you'd come along for this infinite ride.

You lay kisses on my cheeks, my head, my wrists

but never my lips and it scares me

the way I hold on to this hard love.

Your hands are hotcold when you trace patters

down my spine, and though your face is guarded

your muscles tense and I can feel you fighting your bones.

You hold me with such reserve, never

one step out of line, afraid to hurt me, yet

sometimes I think that you press roses into my hands

just to see me bleed.

Even while you murmur promises

and sketch your affections in constellations

I can't help but thinking of how

it never did make sense for you to love