LULLABY
your love does not give me
butterflies or dragons or giddiness.
instead, it is quiet and it is still,
a rhythmic drip-drop of a leaking faucet.
your love is unconventional,
and not the most ideal, but you
are carved into the back of my eyelids,
your smile flashing silly with every blink.
your love is the clashing of teeth and
gangling limbs folding into each other,
numb foreheads and bruised noses from
trying to close the distance between our lips.
your love is not perfect
but instead, it is true.
it does not make my heart skip,
but it sings my soul to sleep—
and you are more than enough for me.
YOU ARE READING
The Skin On Our Bones
Poetry"i have a feeling this might be a big mistake, or maybe, if we're lucky- something star-crossed." a small collection of poems written by a silly girl.
