His jaw slacks ever so slightly
as his laugh echoes around the chambers of my heart,
the ripples cascading down my veins,
Soaking up the oxygen in my blood until I am light and weak again.
Do I love you yet?
I can’t help the way the stars reflect so clearly within my eyes now,
and I wonder how he became the cure to the ailment that plagues being human.
I want to hide in between the hollow ridges of his rib cage
easing his breath,
matching it with mine as I slowly grow to be with him,
welding my soul onto his:
He brought me flowers,
their petals wet from morning dew and the deep smell of pasture.
And he’s beginning to try so hard
and I watch as the stress begins to pull lines across his face.
Do you love me yet?
You can’t help the way that valleys form themselves across your cheeks,
and you wonder if you had ever really laughed in your entire life.
You told me three days prior
that you wish you could live in my head,
sorting away the thoughts that haunt me hours before I can rest.
And I told you
that I have never known such kindness.