my fingertips trace
the outline of your jaw.
they instinctively know
the curvatures of your ears.

my hands have explored
and mapped out
every contour of your
body and heart.

I am the cartographer
of your soul.

I hum sentimental songs
as you sleep,
hoping they enter
your dreams.

that you can feel my presence.

a smile as you part your lips.
a blush when your eyelids
flutter while you dream
(hopefully of me.)

for what seems like the first
time in an eternity of
tempestuous winter;

I feel the unconditional love
and happiness that
accompanies losing
myself in you.

words flow around me as I
search for the correct syntax
to name my desires,
but they remain ineffable.

I want to have your
aura tattooed onto mine,
binding us for life.

we are the red string,
and I am the seamstress.
I tied us together during
my tour of heaven.

the angels gave me
the task of word prophecy
and of sealing our fate.

it was always you.

You are a novel
gathering dust on my shelf
but not because I don’t want to read
but because I’m afraid
to turn the page,
afraid of how you’ll end

I think it's foolish
to believe the possibility
that you are blind about how I feel.
Cause I wear my emotions like an armour.

-m.b

Perhaps I like Greek mythology too much that I create my own curse like in their poetry. How Calypso was cursed to fall for heroes who stumble upon her island, but they'll leave after. And here I am, cursed to be in a circle of unrequited love. Loving people I couldn't have, and being loved by people I couldn't love back.

-m.b