Drawing a bowl of apples is different

And I’ve never met anyone 

Who exclaimed with great passion

“How exquisite! I love!”

Like a French person… or … 

Dutch?

So I guess it’s the same

As that first kiss under the stars

Where he gives you a pendant,

With your initials on it

And your heart melts like 

butter. 

We all need a reminder

To wake us up gently

Unlike how you will awaken;

With a start.

Perhaps in the little corner

of the yard

at a loud party,

Where kids are dancing and people are screaming.

And his lips shall touch yours,

but shall not smell

or taste 

like roses and lemondrops and heritage sweets,

But will taste like … 

old beer and wood.

But those unforgettable

Unspeakable words are the same.

te iubesc

I love you. 

Whispery breaths tap against 

Rattle

The gates to my blood,

But in all truthfulness,

It’s just the rain pattering against the window.

A slot of night peeks in through the blinds

Casting a silhouette on all that its shadow touches.

Tastefully ruining the picturesque picture of a happily 

unbroken heart. 

This redder-than-my-cherry-lipstain-myth-of-Romania

illuminates the night

In a way that the sun never could. 

Maybe the stars,

But 

never 

the 

sun.