My Angel
my angel
has beautiful blond curls
and eyes the color of the sky
and his voice is like creamy caramel
and his lips are sweeter than strawberries.
he is good and kind
and he loves me
and I don't deserve his love in the slightest,
but he loves me.
and I call him
honey
darling
sweetheart
sugar
baby
handsome
sunshine
mine.
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2/21/19
"I now know what love is..."
Love is the way he looks at me
It's how he holds me when I start to panic
It's how he knows all of my nervous ticks
And how he is the only one who can calm me
It's how he commands me to sleep,
and reminds me to take my meds.
It's how he runs to get me water,
and how he tells me the ugly truth,
no matter how much I want to hear beautiful lies.
"...what it feels like..."
It feels like his hands;
the way they trace over every curve of my body
and reach out for mine when we walk side by side.
It feels like his kiss,
soft and sweet and passionate.
It feels like the soft curls of his hair,
whether I'm gently running my hands through them
or tangling my fingers in them.
It feels like his head resting on my lap
and his arms curled around me.
"...sounds like..."
It sounds like the rich caramel tenor
that he sings in.
It sounds like his laugh:
a bird call in the silence.
It sounds like showtunes
and guitar strings
and the gentle piano melody
that played during our first kiss.
It sounds like the firmness
of his voice, grounding me
when nothing seems real.
"...smells like..."
It smells like petrichor.
Like lemon and sage and laundry detergent.
It smells like coffee, cinnamon,
and like throat coat tea.
It smells like spring air.
It smells like mint.
It smells like handmade pizza
and brownie batter.
"...tastes like..."
Love tastes like a mango smoothie.
It tastes like his lips
a taste so familiar,
but always longed for.
Love tastes like sweat,
like his skin when my lips and tongue trail over it.
Love tastes like rich chocolate
and peach jam.
Like caramel and cocoa,
like popcorn drenced in butter.
"...looks like..."
Love looks like golden curls,
like sea-colored eyes;
blue then green then blue again.
Like plump pink lips.
Love looks like his smile:
the only ray of sun on a gray winter morning.
It looks like 'where are u' texts
and the way he cranes his neck
to search for me down the hall when I'm running late.
"...because you are love.
And I never want to lose you."
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The Tears of an Angel
I have only seen him cry twice before.
But when I can't stop
detailing all the reasons why
I don't deserve love;
when I make him think
that this could be the last time we touch;
when he is afraid that he will lose me...
I watch his sea blue eyes become stormy.
He doesn't get angry,
but his fear is somehow worse.
It takes me too long
to realize
the pain that I'm causing him.
I stop.
I stare.
Deep into those tempest eyes --
the ones that shimmer in the sun.
And I realize my mistakes.
I know
that he's seen this too many times
on too many women that he cares about.
I am ashamed
of what I'm doing;
of what I'm saying;
I should know that I'm hurting him,
but I am so caught up
in myself
that I miss what's happening.
And the third time I see him cry
I'm the one who did it.
I'm the one who holds him
while he tries to hide it
because he cares too much.
He takes on the role
of calming me when I cry
(all the goddamn time)
and he is too often
too proud
to let me see him break down.
I apologize.
I hope it's enough.
Of course it is.
He loves me too much
to let my own self-hate
ruin what we have.
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untitled 20
When the late afternoon sun shines through the windows,
it illuminates us both,
wrapped up in each other.
He shines golden as the sun
while I shine copper, like embers.
He is an angel,
and I the succubus who tempts him.
When the sun hits me --
my eyes, my hair --
it shows him the hellfire
that lays beneath a sugar-coated exterior.
Yet he longs;
the angel is tempted by
the thrill of that hellfire.
and with a kiss
I drag him into sin.
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