Room Full Of Art

I couldn't tell you all I wanted to say.

I didn't know how to.

Your love for me was exquisite.

It was like standing in the middle of an art gallery,

trying to pinpoint the meanings behind it all,

but there was none.

The love you had for me was flawless.

It was so beautiful that with each and every word I tried to describe

all fumbled out my mouth and I tried to reach for them before they could

become nothing other than other fragments in the air.

I couldn't hold you for as long as I wanted to.

I didn't have the time.

Your warmth to me was unnatural.

It was like trying to learn how to speak another foreign language,

only I tried to speak it fluently and you laughed at me and said I was too cute for trying.

The fingertips you grazed upon my skin felt like fire.

It drove me crazy and I began to crave your touch day and night

and I was starting to become afraid to be thinking you were the only one who could touch me this way.

I wanted to write your words within my poetry.

And so I did.

Your heart and soul.

Your body and mind.

I wanted it all.

I sat outside with you holding a bottle of liquor between my fingertips while you held a lit cigarette in yours.

You were stuck between Limbo in your head again

So you told me everything and anything.

Things you wouldn’t dare speak to gossiping lips.

I had asked if I could write about you when we are no longer by each other's side.

You put the cigarette in between your teeth and asked me why.

I smiled and said

If i can’t tell you what i truly want to say, then all these feelings and emotions would go to waste.

You smiled back and gave me one last kiss.

And for the first time that night,

your touch was the sweetest.

And I began to write.

• You’re my room full of art.