I was both a fool for you,
and a fool for falling for you.

I think of you
between sips of coffee.
Like this mug we started warm and sweet
but turned into cold, unfinished bitterness.
Leaving me craving
another cup.

Being with you is the opposite
of everything I once desired,

but can I say I’ve never been happier
with something I didn’t want.

‘I love being in your bed,’
he told her.
She asked why
and he answered,

‘Partly for it’s comfort but
mostly because you’re in it.’

I am so much happier when I’m with you,
and as a women who prides herself
on being independent,
that is a terrifying thought;

but what I’ve come to realise is
I’m not loosing myself,
instead I’m becoming a better me
through spending time with you.

I want to feel your tongue trail my body,
like I’m your maze you’re trying to solve.

Despite priding myself on my words
you have me at a loss of them;

but I know when I find them
I will write books about you.

You make me crazy,
but keep me sane;
the cause of my illness
but the cure all the same.

You’re the medicine
I don’t want to quit;
making me better
whilst keeping me sick.

I never let anyone love me,
that was until I met you,

you made it look so easy,
effortless in all that you do.

She wrote the words
of all she loved
across his arms

and months later
she was writing words
of all she loved about him.

She told him
“Maybe I’ll write a poem about you,”
when really she could of written a book.

He told her
“Maybe I’ll write a song about you,”
when really he could of written a symphony.

You consume me;
my thoughts, my words.

They’re about you
and all for you.