Dali

The first time you called me honey, I melted into an ocean of forever needing you. The first time you called me baby, the word was ruined for every other mouth. I knew I wanted nobody else to call me that. The first time you talked to me in your sleep, I decided I wouldn’t be sleeping next to anybody else.

I want your body next to my body in the bed of the apartment you’ll get in the city when you visit me. I want my heart on your heart. I want it to sing you sweet things off-key. I want to forget my lonely when you’re with me. I want my cynicism to take a quiet, permanent vacation.

You make my head spin in circles and off-axis. I dream about you. I daydream about you. I sleep-talk to you. I am doing all the stupid things my heart warned me not to.

Do that thing you did to my heart again. The thing where you make it want to scream it feels for you from rooftops. The thing where you make it want to be loved by you.