Synesthesia


There is poetry in your deep brown eyes;
something more profound than the best writer
could ever hope to set to paper lies
in your embrace, which grows ever tighter
and envelops me in a warmth and a
love that I can hear through your beating chest.
There is music in your breath: a fantasia
that's only heard in the measures of rest
we compose between whispered "I love yous"
when you are holding me safe in your arms
and we're pushing both of our curfews
because we're entranced in each other's charm.
I will talk and write and sing about nights
like this; wrapped in your arms, everything's alright.

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