You're my king and I'm your lionheart

Believe me,
I've tried

stop lying awake until my sheets crawl up around my ankles
becoming wrinkly waves drowning me into the horror of
becoming something I've never been before

not by choice
but simply by the infatuation of breaking into a boat
just because "I wanted to steal a kiss from you on a boat"
and you don't own one

So I rather just keep on

sitting here and watching you talk about streams
not listening a word you say
because I rather watch your lips move
and listen the voice flow like rivers, not streams

streams seem too hurried

Believe me,
I've tried

interrupt you and rush into words telling you how his fingers were digging into my thighs and everything I could think about was your unshaved chin on my chest in the morning before you wake up and force me to get up to take a shower with you before we fall back under the covers and spend the whole day wrapped around each other without seeing the daylight in the whole day and I know we haven't made any promises related to you and me as me being yours and you sharing your bed with just me but even so - I couldn't go through with him having his fingers digging into my thighs

because I really really really like your bed

Would you make me a cup of tea to open my eyes in the right way?

"It's different. it is..."
"intimate" you say

I wonder if I start
brushing my hair hundred strokes a day
showering in slow-motion
stop using the public transportation
kissing you slowly
cook something really time consuming
sleep an hour less every night

could I get the time slow down so I could have you a little bit longer

You told me you'd take me to the ocean
and I wish to tell you how poets tend to refer themselves as the ocean at least once
and how I could be your ocean because I know how much you love fresh water
I'd promise to be as restless as unpredictable as pure
so I just say

"Yes, intimate"
translation:
you are the best and worst thing ever happened to me

Loving him was like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street

You're going through a mid-life crisis
"you're like my sports car, you know"
I brush my fingers through your hair
quickly
as I'm trying to choose between sanity and rapture

So here I stand
(knee)deep in shit
afraid of the streetlights
understanding why my mother always hoped I would get my fathers dark brown eyes

you make me tea
because you still haven't bought the coffee I asked you to
and you decide to take your sports car for a ride
and engine humming I close my eyes
and I hope I'm going to be happy someday
in the same way I am here my head on your chest