“Kiss me like my lips are the oxygen you need to survive or the passion you need to thrive.”

My mind is the double helix that twists and turns around my voice.

Longing made a home in my body.

A year ago we battled atoms to see each other – spaced apart but still so close together in heart.

I could write another love poem but my metaphors get mixed like the drinks I had the night that more than our paths crossed – strongly.

The stars can’t compete with your glow so don’t let the world take it away.

Our love is that light up every room star.

Tied up by my heartstrings, I can’t break free from feelings – the restraints too tight, the love too strong.

But once your eyes met mine, addiction blossomed and I was undone – petals unfurling toward the light you held.

Your eyes: a tender illustration of love, how you paint affirmations across my bare skin.

Write me a poem in Morse code, goosebumps on my skin and lines on your neck.

Your legs twitch in your sleep like you’re running to me in your dreams.

Look at our story: It is enduring.

The monsters are no longer under our beds.

I never liked nicknames until mine crossed your lips like sugar.

Every word you say to me is forever a gift and I never forget the present.

What is a home if it isn’t waking up next to you?

When no one is looking, I swallow deserts and clouds and chew on mountains knowing they are sweet bones! When no one is looking and I want to kiss God, I just lift my own hand to my mouth.

We kiss like fire and wind drifting, into the woods of our unspoken sins.

My body is covered in scars where silver blades kisses my skin and pretended to be love.

I caught the happy virus last night When I was out singing beneath the stars. It is remarkably contagious – So kiss me.

I kiss the skies, set the sun in my eyes and swallow up the streams. I swear to god, I only feel alive in my most ludricious dreams.

The Earth would die If the sun stopped kissing her.

I read one psychologist’s theory that said, “Never strike a child in your anger.” When could I strike him? When he is kissing me on my birthday? When he’s recuperating from measles? Do I slap the Bible out of his hand on Sunday?

If a man’s a good kisser, he’s a great f-.