Each time I put pen to paper, you linger between my thoughts, unwavering, like a butterfly dancing in my chest, my haven and companion.  

I etch your essence in the verses of my poetry, and I draw you into the features of my characters’ novels.  

Can anyone glimpse the radiance of your face shining through my words?  

Has the scent of your body exposed me, wafting from the ink of my quill?  

Has the lovebird hidden in my grasp taken flight?  

Is your name now etched in the depths of my soul?  

Do the hues of your eyes shimmer in my coffee?  

Has the sound of your footsteps become the ticking of my clock?  

And has our meeting become the embodiment of my every desire?  

How have you made me lose all sense of time?  

I find myself ensnared in the drawer of the past, sifting through cherished memories.  

How did you dwell in my thoughts for just two days, yet turn into two years of my life?  

How did you become my entire existence?  

Did I not love before you? Did I not dare to take risks? Did longing not tear me apart?  

Did I not speak of love a hundred times and pen a thousand verses about it?  

How did you erase all my words with a mere touch?  

Your love surpasses me, an extraordinary universe, a state of divine ecstasy; forgive my endless questions.  

For I have loved only you; every passerby in my past has gone, and I care not for who will come.  

The magnitude of this feeling transcends the small letters I scatter among my whispered thoughts.  

Your love is a warm scarf that cuddles my heart with a cascade of kisses,  

an opiate that courses through my soul, the essence of all my dreams.  

You are a Nabatean melody I hum, a sacred verse, a faith I cherish, a rosary that cradles my prayers.  

So allow me to curl up like a baby and rest upon your chest for a moment, my eternal one.  

For if my end is to burn in your arms, then I welcome my demise.