30 March 2014

methods

I want to hang a picture of your laughter on the inside of my brain,
and preserve it.
I want to make my eyes into mirrors,
so that when you look at me, you could see what I do
and I want to travel to places in your mind
that I honestly have no right to.
I tear myself away from the depths of your eyes
because I am afraid of falling into them,
yet I can't help but keep returning to the edge,
dipping my toes,
testing the water.
I am so in love with you:
the simple way your hands grip your pencil;
the way your feet meet the pavement with every stride;
the color of your eyes in moonlight.
I long to press my lips to the dimples in your cheeks,
to give your fingers a home among mine,
to find all the different ways I can love you.

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