To whoever you are, I hope you love the sky when it is not clear. Because my skin has been draped in stars, and my wrist, trailed by comets.
To whoever you are, I hope you love the moon in all of its phases. Because there are times when I am there, but you cannot see me.
To whoever you are, I hope you love the taste of honey. Because I have dipped my every finger into the stomach of a bee, so that your first taste of me are unforgettable saccharine pools.
To whoever you are, I hope you love me.
Because I will love you.
YOU ARE READING
peregrinate
Poetryperegrinate /ˈpɛrɪɡrɪˌneɪt/ travel or wander from place to place. [ • a collection of the all the places I've travelled to in my mind • ] Insight (#2) beauty (#157) poetic (#1) poetry (#98)
