loving you feels like
sunlight streaming in from windows
whose ledges are
occupied with greenery and
soft jazz seeping out
from the record player
blue velvet couch and
your arms wound around
beating heart and
sunflowers in my hair,
you creep into my bones on wintry mornings
while the light tiptoes its way across my white bedsheets and
I recall Bukowski in my head claiming love like
while I smuggle earl grey
tea in between the lips of December promises and
wonder how you recover from love that spills
into your coffee cup or if
love is even love if
it requires recovering from.
and the night feels like a summer night but doesn’t feel like summer because you are my sunshine and what is summer without sunshine and do you see the same stars tonight?
the ones littering the sky with the bright moon by their side and I think of how this would be a perfect time to bring the car to the place where it all began and look up, look up for a little while.
though I’ll admit that when you’re next to me I barely look at anything but your face and your eyes and your smile and that feels a lot like I’m looking at the stars anyhow.
they say the brightest stars lead home so if I watch them long enough will they lead me to you?
it’s much the same anyways, missing you, as waiting to see the stars.
lasts all day and then I know you’re there but I know you’re miles away and on some days even the night fails to bring you to me.
you are stars to me because that’s what galaxies are made of and when it comes to you is there any other explanation for how you make me feel the way I do?