no, it's not you
it's not your eyes that make me think of home,
or your hair, although beautiful
or your lips, no matter how soft
it's something under your skin
above your slender neck and behind those eyes,
something unattainably irresistible in every single way
all of the parts of you that I'll never be able to touch or feel
like a vague memory of something I haven't yet seen
and in the structure of your delicate bones
in your systematic, warm body
the blood in your veins
and the spring in your step
everything that makes me feel like I've never felt
and I wonder how I could be so blessed to see you
