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Description
To the boy with the helicopter eyes with the rotor that never stops,

you're beautiful.

Like stained glass and buildings at night, illuminated by the sins being committed within the otherwise dark city;

like a city shining with guilt so blindingly bright it could put angels to shame.

You're beautiful like a first kiss,

like being on a stage,

like loving someone you can't have so unconditionally it hurts to go to sleep at night, but you'll keep loving them because that's what love is about, isn't it?

You're that beautiful and then some.

I catch myself staring at your hands.

The way they move is like air.

I wouldn't breathe anyone else in.
Your handwriting could sing me to sleep and the way you hold me makes me feel like part of a quiet agreement to never hold anyone else.

Sing me awake, boy, and weave your fingers through my hair.
I've never loved so honestly.

Your ribs taste like fireflies.

I don't always think in rhymes, but sometimes it happens.

I don't like rhyming because it reminds me there are rules to be followed.

You're always the same type of magic

and your feet

have walked the miles and twists and curves of my body

many times over.

I'm sorry if I'm not the book you expected to read.

I'm sorry if my pages are burnt

and that all I can offer you are burnt pieces of metaphors

that don't quite make sense.

But promise to love me anyway.

Promise to dance over my pages with your fingertips

and promise me you'll read me over and over

for years to come.

Description
To the boy with the helicopter eyes with the rotor that never stops,

you're beautiful.

Like stained glass and buildings at night, illuminated by the sins being committed within the otherwise dark city;

like a city shining with guilt so blindingly bright it could put angels to shame.

You're beautiful like a first kiss,

like being on a stage,

like loving someone you can't have so unconditionally it hurts to go to sleep at night, but you'll keep loving them because that's what love is about, isn't it?

You're that beautiful and then some.

I catch myself staring at your hands.

The way they move is like air.

I wouldn't breathe anyone else in.
Your handwriting could sing me to sleep and the way you hold me makes me feel like part of a quiet agreement to never hold anyone else.

Sing me awake, boy, and weave your fingers through my hair.
I've never loved so honestly.

Your ribs taste like fireflies.

I don't always think in rhymes, but sometimes it happens.

I don't like rhyming because it reminds me there are rules to be followed.

You're always the same type of magic

and your feet

have walked the miles and twists and curves of my body

many times over.

I'm sorry if I'm not the book you expected to read.

I'm sorry if my pages are burnt

and that all I can offer you are burnt pieces of metaphors

that don't quite make sense.

But promise to love me anyway.

Promise to dance over my pages with your fingertips

and promise me you'll read me over and over

for years to come.