I only just, likelove you.
and that, shouldn't mean much.
because it doesn't say much,
from a patron of poetry.

your affect on my heart is like,
acid. colors become brilliant and
my words, lose themselves
around the edges of your tongue.

and it causes my sensory nerves to,
trembling, and bend fiercely
in and out of, reality.

and when we come apart,
I don't lose you, I lose
a part of myself.

and it turns me into a flower.
begging to be plucked.
from my unforgiving winter bed.

(becasue I smolder
when I am with you.)