If it ain't like that
I don't want it
And if I do want it
I will be like that, myself
You will have poems written about one of the strands of your hair
Or about a specific spot on the side of your smile
Or about how your eyes remind me of fields of flowers
Or about your hands, omg... Yes your hands
And the places I call home on you
Like your chest alive and beating as I sense it through the opening of your shirt
I will call it my homeland
I will write about the urge I have to burry my face in it like a cat
I could write billions of poems for the one I love
Or whisper them daily in their heart's ears ✨
I would yearn to become familiar with everything unspoken or bruised or hidden
I would make it my mission to leave no single part of the person I love unnoticed, unloved, unappreciated...
And I would burn for the same in return
But only if I love...
And I did...
I did love...
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