In my photo album,
my love is standing by the sea
with the breeze in his hair,
and the tide pushing back against his feet.
There's an entire ocean in his eyes,
and a bashful smile on his lips
that tells me no one's ever called him 'pretty' before.
He doesn't much care for pictures,
but he can't see the way he looks when he's happy,
and maybe if he could he'd understand why I take so many.
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supine thoughts
PoetryPoetry exploring thoughts into love, sexuality, mental health and navigating the modern world.
