He is 2 minutes past breathless.
He is a wrung out small.
He has has a face as open as the sky.
He is laughter.
He's the reason the world slows.
He's why it has to keep on spinning.
He is the sunrise,
but the moon still shines brighter when he's here.
There is contradiction on his palms.
They can shatter and restore.
He is stolen starlight and borrowed days.
Familiarity runs in alien viens.
I try to map the wandering trails of his eyes.
And he knows the pathways of my whirling-dervish heart.
Trust is not a language I speak,
but he has taught me to write epics in words I did not know.
Under the light of honesty,
I have been allowed to dive into the waters of security.
Tenderness falls softer than snow
and the world is bathed in pace.
I had never seen hands that could hold my heart.
Others have tried to pin it to a card
and frame it on the wall,
However, love is meant to breathe,
and the air tastes so much sweeter now.
His fingerprints dot my happiness
and I learn new ways to spell "joy"
And he has let me love without dependence.
I can fly as far as I wish
and still return to arms that can hold up the sky.
Freedom is as great as love,
when given as openly.
