sweetheart;
your eyes are tired from the sleep
you’ve not been getting
sleeping at 3am and
waking up at 8.
you say goodnight, but I really do wonder
if your night was good.
you send heart shapes and sweet messages,
warming my heart in this bitter cold winter
every passing day a day nearer to warmth
every passing day a day nearer to you, because
home is warm and
you are home.
you ask me how I turn my words into romance
I’ll tell you I’m a hopeless romantic—my soul
bleeds in the form of words, of poetry and prose,
for keeping my sanity
in loving you insane
You are madness in its loveliest form
I am a passionately raging thunderstorm
and I roar when you roar
I cry when you cry
and I fall when
you fall.
; 