I can’t tell you why I’m writing this.
I can tell you that it feels right.
I’m listening to your record to get a feel for you and I’m lighting coffee scented candles to help me miss you more clearly. I’m scared to write.
I miss you so much sometimes.
Even when you’re right next to me.
It’s annoying.
I always doubt myself around you.
I think you think I call you pretty too much.
You are so ******* pretty.
I feel distant, but then you look up at me and I’m reminded that I am an idiot for missing someone so near to me.
Then I think of how ******* lucky I am.
And how perfect you are.
And I go home and light candles and write of how I wish I had the guts to say “I love you.”
And how I wish I had the guts to believe that you would say it back.
You can call me a coward for putting it in writing, but it’s still true.
I love you.

You fit so perfectly in my arms. Holding the world together was never so enjoyable. And your coffee colored eyes look so beautiful when you stare back at me. I try to count your freckles, but I get too easily distracted by the millions of other things that make you so ******* stunning. The collision of your kiss leaves me so breathlessly happy, and I look dumb as **** after. I think of you during storms. I think of you all the time. And I can't think of a better way to daydream without you waltzing into my mind. You are my blissful summer nights. You are my adorable best friend. You are my coffee shop daydreams. You are my everything.

Writing highly of you is almost becoming competitive.
Its must feel good reading poem after poem about how perfect you are.
I hope that mine live up to the standards that they have all set.
They all talk of how you radiate joy.
Of how your little actions mean the world.
They aren't wrong.
A smile from you leaves me longing for the sight of you all day.
A giggle, and my heart skips a beat, fluttering to the tune of your joy.
The melodic words that spill from your pen seem to be tattooed all over my body, running along my sides and up and down my arms until the strands of black ink meet on the spot above my heart.
The breathtaking collision of your kiss sends my fears and worries and little insecurities away to a far off place, never to be seen when your smile is in my thoughts .
it’s safe.
it’s bliss
it’s everything.

Thank you

You gave me a rose today.
It sits in my room wilting patiently.
Slyly pouring salt in the wound.
And what strikes me most is the symmetry.
how it sits dying so beautifully,
how it stands tall through all the pain,
how it's petals crash onto the floor like my knuckles into my wall,
and how it makes me smile so easily.
A nice gesture,
falling somewhere between a torture and a romance.

Bella, Bella – it’s a felony:
Writing verses bland and trite;
Breathing rhymes – tumultuous, mellow –
In your honor: quite a rite.

Bella, Muse in any language,
Any age and any land…
Bella! – Art for you, I wager,
Carries spirit, beauty, flare.

Be they poems, songs or novels,
Be they novel, classic, both -
Far above the comets hover,
Doing justice to our voice,

To your eyes, their depth, your soul…
You’re my soul’s sole Muse -
To inspire, to console;
Magic, power, love infuse…

Bella, Bella, no halo -
But angelic, wicked, real.
Voice more musical than cello,
Hands that send your passions reeling.

Ears elvish, lips of cherry,
You’re a girl devoid of lies,
No prize more dearly cherished -
Than to look into your eyes.

*

Bella, Bella, flute or cello
Play within your heart;
Leaves of autumn, red and yellow,
Seek you from afar…

Bella, Bella, kind and mellow –
Music in your eyes;
Lives of ours: a clever melody -
Simple, no disguise.

Bella – translator and poet,
Singer, lover, friend;
Bella…Quill of mine is honed
To your wave and trend.

Bell, Bella, should we venture,
Dare and create? –
Stories modern, future, ancient…
I’m a bit afraid.

Shall we live with wild abandon?
Sing about the stars?
Live as wizards, lovers, bandits?
Stunning be and stunned?

Bella, Bella, end the lyrics –
Tales lie ahead:
Tall and fairy, moral, fleeting….
Let me have your hand.

Bella – five such simple letters…
Infinite, to wit.
Bella, please be real, you’d better!
Leave not with the wind…

Bella was young, Bella was fair
With bilious green eyes and velvet hair
Her face a work of art
Made her creator's eyes squint and fall apart
Bella never let my filthy tongue near her silent heart.

My Bella, she loved nothing more
Than to be a sled one had to grind
Through a desert of white, a sea of ice
He pulled her all over frozen fields, past the last of crystal trees
And then he hid her in the glistering white of nature's eyeball.

For my Bella, I'd always find time to mourn
Addicted to hazy cigar heat and first-degree burns
But dreaded thoughts of her lovely chest freezing to death
Ultimately sent me on the pointless quest
Of searching for Bella in her icy mess.

Bella never saw the dozens of dead dogs
I had to leave by the wayside
She turned to me at the end of this cruel ride
And said: 'George, be careful what you preach
You might be feel cold, but I don't
'Round here, you're looking at nature's peach
And for me, it's right by the beach!'