S O U L P O E T

We are platonic

We are platonic.

She is my steaming cup of coffee
And I am the pages off her books
I am the leather bound stories she reads by the window and she is my rook, moving forwards and to The sides there are no limits to her strides. I am the ocean and she is my moon and I want her to eclipse and adorn me with her presence for it fills me with knowledge, I see glimpses of the universe, she recites word after word and verse after verse. She fills me with the knowledge that I am not alone.
I am the empty pages at the beginning and ending of the books she recites with a gleam in her eyes.
She wears my oversized shirts and knits to keep her warm, she says they smell of life and shelter her from the storm, the storm that is our world. But together we are platonic, where she is my coffee, and I am her books.

When her eyes trail to the end of a book but shes felt no real ending she uses my blank pages as a way of creating her own And I've always marvelled at how she could single handedly do so.

We are platonic, creatively one

I am the pages of her books and she is the model for mine
She is my morning coffee and my midnight crush, and mother forgive me but this isn't the time,
She reminds me my life is mine.

We talk of our futures, how they will intertwine, we'll get married for tax benefits, adopt two kids and a cat. We'd name our cat Ryden and our kids Sophocles and Macbeth
Together we'd grow old and obsess over Shakespearean litterateur, Ancient Greece and often speak in Latin. That one day when we'd be too old to walk we'd sit on the porch surrounded by our children, their children and petting Ryden the third

And I bet as she recited the lines of her favourite texts, the gleam in her eyes would stay the same and the drawings in my books, forever capturing her beauty untamed.

Together we're platonic
Where she's my coffee and I'm her books

She is long walks on the pier
And the smell of herbal tea,
She is a pastel rainbow capturing an indefinite scene of her and me
She is my coffee in the cold sweater mornings. And I am her tea in the midnight mayhem

Together we read, drink coffee, drink tea, we bond over books about arts and philosophy, and if I wanted to see space. I'd look deep in her eyes to the heart of the Galaxy.

We discussed what it means to be platonic in the mid seventeenth century in the symposium by Plato, we acted out the play Ajax by Sophocles in the fifth century, and now we recite lines most pure to each other's ears. Not plays by Shakespeare, or any other sonnet, only words we have for each other, they weren't written by Aristotle or Homer. These are the words she writes on my blank pages, they are the drawings she never new I drew
For we are platonic
Not some romantic tragedy

She is my friend and we're in this platonically