cinnamon.

Two fingers to my wrist when I looked at you,

The pulsating heartbeat with your eyes of blue.

And the cliché’s said you could swim in the colour,

But I was flying into the heat of the Summer.

Feelings were hidden, tightly disguised,

Caterpillars cocooned in my stomach birthed into butterflies.

And as their virgin wings fluttered, I began to mutter, that maybe there’s more to this spell I was under.

Your hair like cinnamon; your palms like cotton,

The hold of two bodies began to soften.

“The lovesick feeling turned into healing,” I spoke,

“You were the scent in my incense, dancing in the smoke.”

I watched your fingers curl into mine;

On the map of your hands, I unearthed our journeys along the lines.

About the new truths of my world, my mind scattered and curled, oh, how beautiful to fall in love with a girl.