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he smells a lot like cherries and wine, with his mystic pastel blue eyes he carries a lightning in his heart, constantly sharpening his smile ─ almost like he's aware of the splendid art
he brings me fresh fruits in the morning, napes bruised with crimson shade of yesterday's adorning afternoons with him start with soft lofty grins, that soon end up in lazy jawline kisses
by evening, there's a tragic paint on the sky, he's a little broken, but he desperately tries to be nice nights are all about soft aching hands buried in messed up hair, breathing in each other's regrets is the only way we know how to share
he's a mystery, a revolution he loves me where I'm the most flawed, the most broken he tells me the words that weren't meant for people like me, even while he's fading, he's electrifying enthralling enamoring everything to me
