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"If I could capture all
the beauty in the world, I
think I would die from
euphoria," you told me while
I just swelled up, expulsion of
liquid overflowing these tiny tear
ducts and I realized you had
reeled me in from my single-man
voyage in the middle of ocean mouth
canvas wide, brush strokes yearning
for touches and caresses from your
artistic arm length stretches, all for
a chance to show me that those greeting cards,
teddy bears, ribbons and sloppy
kisses aren't overrated, it's not a
lie - stark familiarity isn't a bad thing
and kissing you is ever better.

---

You hate me, you told me, when I
make it feel like a thousand fireworks
are bursting inside your cheeks making
that smile last and happen so strongly because
you know fireworks don't last forever.

I tell you to think about them like fire-burst,
walking on the sun; they die out never and
when I tickle you like this, I can't seem to get
tired never of your gosh gorgeous laugh
that's so infectious, I'm having trouble resisting
the urge to laugh right now.

---

You say the brunette dye
feels so funky, but you always
had enough spunk to last a
few years plus and the curls still
exist in full force and throw
my soul for joy rides I'm mustering
no strength for a protest.
"You're still a blonde, no matter
what," I say, and you punch me in the
arm cause that's what you do to
stop from blushing.

We watch the skateboarders
do ollies, wipeout, scrape elbows
and hoot with approval sick
landings twenty feet high.
I kick the back of your Chucks
trying to hold you from behind and
you warn me not to scuff 'em up
but I ended up scrunching your
face up, kissing your neck like that.

"Baby, baby, baby," you squealed and
in an instant, every care we cared to
let bother our sleepful dreams or wakeful
moments became some fable labeled fantasy
as our reality morphed into some fantastical
black and white darkroom overdeveloped
photo, us looking so amazingly fly, so
cosmically chill, so Hallmark ready.

I clipped a lock of your hair,
placed it under my pillow and knew
I could sleep dreaming of white willows,
hiding underneath the boughs from rains
of your golden curls (blonde is better) surrealist
at it's best, circulatory formation around me, your
essence envelops me; every night is paradise
and every wakeful moment is bliss with copious
amounts of kisses that sees no limit.