and from the lips, spring bubbles
gorgeous and beautiful springs
bubbling and watering and rushing,
just like spring itself.

and from his eyes, stars drown
pouring forth such suffocation
as i find myself lost, deep in the night,
drowning in his eyes.

and from his fingertips, love bursts
in great bursts of envy and joy
and love itself is but a burst of magnificence
of which no other can compare.

he is a day alone,
the lonely callings of the moon
he is the soft murmurings
of the heart, irregular beats
skipping for him alone.

he is the morning spent,
underneath the sun and curtains drawn
but i, so greatly enamored am i,
that his face is so beautiful
trace each scar, and kiss the grieving away.

he is warmth and protection
and the beauty of the dust
just as he is the negligence of the cracks
that i find in the ceiling, as i count away
the flaws of his perfection.