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.

Let me tell you a phenomenon I realized. Whenever he opens his mouth to speak, I pause and lean in to listen. My body seem to come together in peace, listening intently. The breeze softens to the sound of his voice, flowing with a quiet coolness. The animals pause to hear his stories, like an eager crowd. Whatever tension building up on my shoulders and neck seem to pause and heal, disappearing quietly with each word he utters, or whatever sound he hums as he stop to ponder in between conversations. It's like the universe comes to a calming pause whenever he makes a sound.

And oh, don't get me started when he sings and fiddles with the guitar or piano. With elegant fingers poised on strings or keys. Creating magical notes with a fiery passion surging from his beautiful heart to the tips of his fingers. You may think I'm exaggerating but I am always in awe of his talents. It's like his soul scoops up the emotions and dumps them carefully in music chords and intricate words. How I could just close my eyes and let his voice breathe life into me. I thank God everyday for his existence; for he is made of all things soft and beautiful.

-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

Sometimes I forget that people change. The people you've been with won't stay with you for long. I get so used to being a part of a group that when I'm back to being a singular or solitary molecule, it feels heartbreaking.

I tend to forget that people change. Like from solid to liquid to gas. Shifting forms as they grow. Blowing up, deflate, compress; changing their mentality, preferences and their whole being to suit their surroundings.

I honestly keep forgetting the part that we'll never really remain solid. We're real life forms, changing into complex, different states of matter. And sometimes when I think there are only three states, I discover that they change into a fourth one. Or more. And I can't remain the same as what I prefer or feel comfortable with.

-m.b