a very fluffy poem about mornings, insecurities, angelic adoration and love.
if there was a moment where I could love you most,
it would be now; when the sun is a ghost -
pale and glowing, through sheets and skin,
illuminating your heart within
because you look ethereal, so ethereal -
like you're almost imaginary, almost unreal,
but then I reach out and press my fingers
against your skin, and the contact lingers.
otherwise, there would be no truth to you
because you look like an angel, through and through
and all I can do is lie and wonder
how I haven't made any blunder
which has stolen you away from me.
because this angel deserves to be free;
not to be stuck with someone so faultful.
not to be stuck with someone so sinful.
but then you blink and come so close
and admit that you don't know why I chose
someone like you; someone like you
who is unworthy, through and through.
and you laugh, and tangle your fingers in my hair
and I laugh, and tangle myself in your care
because this love of ours is no more than tangible
and there is no doubt that we are not inflammable
but when you're with me, I feel infallible.