I want to write you a symphony,
but why try when you are already a well orchestrated choir.
Your heart rings out louder than the crack in the bell ever has.
Your laughter is the sweetest of sounds pianos can only dream of imitating and has forced the songbird into retirement.
I want to create you a masterpiece,
but why try when you are already the brush and the palette.
Your body - how it reminds the moon of her former glory - could never be captured in marble by Michaelangelo.
Your eyes are the clear blue that Picasso always longed for,
and now he turns enviously beneath the earth.
I want to show you that I will be here to chase away the clouds when they block the sunlight,
and I should have begun trying harder a long time ago.
you trust me enough to open your chest,
lay your heart in my hands and allow me to do anything.
You trust me to touch it,
to not break it.
And although I promise you I will not break it,
I have dropped it one too many times already.
And I know it should have been like this from the start,
but I will hold on tighter,
I will print a vinyl with your heartbeat on it,
and I will play it on repeat so when the pin jumps behind your ribs I’ll be there before the beat kicks in again.
I will hold your hand
and your heart,
you will be alright love,
you will be alright.