One day I am going to make the world yours
I will write sonnets and sonatas about the pools of water which run through your eyes
how your knuckles remind me of freshly fallen snow on mountains
the spaces between your lungs like draping valleys your finger tips like drop of water
your heart a flickering light bulb
refusing to diminish
even when an electrical black out consumes the city

I will take these piano sonatas of writing the clarinet concertos and string quartets and dismantle them across the city
paint them along walls in pale yellows, deep purples, vivid greens
I would live in a hospital and whisper your words to new born babies
their small ears the size of fifty cent pieces just
so they could live every day without heart ache and pain
because parents can’t teach what I’ve learnt from you neither can schools or the internet or books or encyclopedias written about love

I would write love letters to the sky, essays and essays
of the spaces between your fingers the shape of your cuticles
and I have a small note book of every single thing you have ever said to me
even ‘yes’
and I would trace word for word all of these passages into the core of a cloud or stitch them with needle and thread into the sky
or maybe I could spend a life time writing down the address of every home on Earth and send them a parcel
a bundle of pages and pages of every single time you had saved my life
and exactly what words emitted your lips
to make it so

At night the stars would shine even brighter so your words could be seen across the world,
you name would glisten like glow sticks and car lights across the night
they would know you by name
and illuminate the outlines on the curves of your name
mingle with the nebulas

Each day I would paint your wondrous letters into the sky
and each night
children in flannalette pyjamas
women with cherry stained lips wearing lingerie
and grand mothers sitting on rocking chairs drinking jasmine tea
would crowd around window panes
and stare at the sky
insomniacs and souls suffering from heart ache or grief
could look into the blackness
and see your words imprinted amongst the stars
and the planets
and the galaxies
and know that life is worth living
because it is