Necker Cubed Brain.

Robin Scherbatsky

Your nostrils breathe the air I'm trying to send

I want you to read my mind and tell me I'm wrong

I want you to take a guitar and write a song

about us, the beginning , the end.

As I play inside your hair, sliding down curls and ideas,

as you write your stories to help me fall asleep

and kill my anxiety I'm counting sheep

made out of your flower-scent affection

Disinfection from the world

I was my hands with your goodnight kisses,

They don't exist; I'm an imagination fanatic,

Imagination that dismisses and reminisces

times I no longer need; I've got you;

Here in my dream.

You grow wings to fly two inches above the ground

Because being a down to earth person is not for angels.

Let me fly beside you taking your hand so

that I do not fall on this ground of mortals –

Baby, with you I feel immortal –

You make me feel forever in a second.

May not be reciprocal I reckon

But you're worth the risk so let's risk

our lives together in fever

I'm no longer an underachiever

if what I've got is you.

Which is better – poetry or music?

– Or the verse of your eyes –

– Or the rhyme of your ambitions –

You're my favourite art, my favourite Rubik

Cubic Enigma I'd like to decipher

Let me overanalyze you like in school

Find things that are not and interpret

what made me fall in love – you're cypher

– Morse code – Like it, never understood it

But you're not to a lesson, you're not to be understood or learned,

You're to be loved – preferably by me –, you're to be accompanied:

Let us be alone together!

Loneliness is just the scent the rain leaves when it leaves and the leafs cry because

You've not kiss me yet.

Whether you want feathers to go nether

or just fly north; there's no threat

I'm with you, I always die first

and you've killed me with passion –

I don't believe in heaven –

I'm there nonetheless.

Safer and safer in this hole I dug myself,

Covered with earth smelling of your stares,

I like to be observed by you, to be

claustrophobic inside you –

You're my panic room and my panic attack

and my panicking love

– Disorder –

– Out of the hat comes a dove –

A magical painting you've done with brushes

made out of bittersweet smiles and color gradations out of your lipstick,

I'm homesick,

I'm cold, calculating, obsessed with arithmetic,

Stuck in inexact science.

Sticking with your reliance.