[poetryloverposts]

I’m not worth much. I don’t have many skills. I have high highs and down to hell lows. I’ve done nothing for you, hell I can barely do enough for myself. I’m not easy to love, very few have, and even fewer held onto it. But yet you took me in, and now I spend everyday apologizing for my lack.

[poetryloverposts]

I look into his coffee brown eyes, his mesmerizing gaze meeting my uncertain one. Looking at him fills me with a sense of nostalgia, familiarity. In a way, it scares me. He makes me feel lost knowingly, like going back to the home you were born in after decades of being away. I love it. His voice resonating throughout my body, his subtle vibrato shaking down into my soul, quieting the loud everyday thoughts into a noisy silence that only he and I can enjoy.

[poetryloverposts]

Physical Arts

The way he presses into me makes me forget about the outside world. In this moment, he and I intertwined, bending and twisting together, making art that those such as Da Vinci or Picasso would rage over, knowing that no paint nor canvas could create something even half as beautiful and raw as we have, just with our bodies. Our movements and sounds being admired by Aphrodite herself, watching as she lives through us, proud of how close as mortals we’ve gotten to the God’s themselves.