He was the love that dripped from my lips, down my chin and to my breast.
The one who had loved the soul I carried in this cold body I held up.
The whispers of worry and suffering crowded my mind, yet were blinded by love itself.
I looked at him as if he put the stars in my eyes, the wonder in my soul, the
light carres on my cheek..
He did..
He touched my skin with his warm finger tips. Yet they weren't his. They were mine. Wishing to be his.
From the thousand of miles that held us apart, I begged for fate to let it be.
Wishing on stars that he put in my eyes.
Again, he touched me.
Not with his own fingertips.
But with his love he delivered through his words. Through the sound of his laughter.
Through the bickering, the nicknames, the way he said my name.
He owned me in a way where I would kneel to him anywhere. My body has submitted under him, without me having a say so. I was blinded from reality by the promise of love, and I didn't mind it one bit.
