If I were asked what it is I feel for you
I don’t think I could ever quite be able to string together a sentence sensible enough
I’d probably stumble over my whirlwind of hidden thoughts
clumsily trying to stack them into
But see how can I tame the wind
when it refuses to be caught
And if the wind were to slow and become a breeze
It would whisper that this
whatever this is
It feels a lot like slumping onto my bed after a long day
something like closing my eyes
sinking into a lazy Saturday afternoon slumber
and waking up to the subtle sounds of rain against my bedroom window
or the cupping of my favourite mug between my hands
sipping on sunshine
maybe taking a trip through the pages of a new book
being wrapped up in a familiar blanket of safety
Butinthesamebreath DearGodInthesamebreath
it’s as though my lungs forget how to make the motion that fills them with life
when you mould my vision into nothing but your smile
and my    breathing     staggers     like     a     drunken    night     out
and my hands shake steadily hidden behind my back
and my    words   are   swallowed   in    an   ocean of   breathlessness
as my tongue trips over its tangled
 mess of     disjointed
as though shyness has everything I want to say
pinned up against the opposite corner of my voice
and I wonder how it is that you don’t hear it
the drumming
drumming inside my chest beside you
this is it
right here
this is why the wind refuses to be caught
it will only slow to a breeze
just to run away
when it starts to get too comfortable
with gathering speed