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A dreamer, a romancer, I’m the dancer pulling you by the finger ever so gently, because that’s all you need.
A painter, your body is my canvas, and vice versa. You have inevitably left your stroke on me, to carry and to belong to. To have a part of you with me forever. A moment or forever, what does it matter to us?
Please don’t be surprised if you find pieces of yourself in my musings, immortalized in my journal, tucked away safely in the corners of my heart. Whether it’s the light that bleeds through your hair, the clean cut of your collar bone, the skin of your neck, pulled taut, I don’t know yet, let’s find out. Or maybe we’ve met before, and maybe this time, what I notice are the shadowy silhouettes of soft, dreamy foliage, climbing their way onto your complexion, or a deep dive into finally having the base notes of your cologne deciphered. I look forward to our choked, heady flames, our fever-kissed skin under a cooling duvet. Perhaps it’s lighter, breezy like the mall date we promised each other, hand in hand, laughing through whispered half-jokes, become the only people in the world.