what it is to be hopelessly in love;
she is carved from gold and laced with quartz and dressed in the sun itself;
she speaks in falsettos and sings in harmonies softer than you will ever hear, and when she laughs all the stars weep because they know they will never be as beautiful as her.
she is lovely,
angels tangle themselves in her hair so her heavenliness seeps into their skin,
and oceans' tides long for the sway of her hips in the dewy sunset;
her skin is soft and supple and discoloured and imperfect and you would die a thousand times to see every acre of it, and come back to life each time just to call every inch of her exquisite.
her radiance makes the sun cower,
and every time her hands brush yours,
a little part of you between your heart and your throat wilts;
she is gorgeous and captivating and completely and utterly terrifying,
and you are sure if she leant too close
you would drown in the fullness of her lips and lose yourself in the pungency of her breath on your flesh.
poetry spills from her lips and oil paints swirl in her irises,
and the moment she looks at you with her starry night eyes,
you know she is what god thought of when he created the sky,
because the midnight constellations have never seemed so dull.
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this is written about no one but i was thinking of entering the foyle young poets competition ?? idk whatpoem/s to enter though ugh
