it's not that you make me less

creative—

it's that you make my life, for once,

the adventure,

and i no longer have to romanticize

the parts of my life that don't

exist yet;

because somehow, someway,

you're making them come true,

and i can't help but feel

like you're equally my muse

as well as my rock—

my nails draw perfectly along

your jaw, your chest, your shoulders

making me feel safe inside

the cocooned realm soundly

your arms create around me—

how did i get so lucky?

lucky in love, but so lucky

that someone loves me

for... me?

that i'm perfect,

for... you?

the perfection you see is not

lost on me, because i live in the spaces

between the words you breathe

into my neck as i hold you;

i hear you, and i listen

to your heartbeat and your fears

i want to be everything to you,

and i never have to worry,

though i do—

you are simultaneously

the best thing to ever happen to me

as well as the scariest

but i'm in too deep now

and i've learned that love does,

indeed, hurt — sometimes

but i'm also understanding

that the hurt is from the bursting—

the explosion inside me

when i look at you, when you kiss me

after a year with you,

i cannot wait for a lifetime more—

even if i shall perish tomorrow,

i'm eternally grateful,

in this life and the next,

to experience fleeting life and lasting love

with my soulmate—

if only for an interlude;

a tiny speck of time in the vastness of humanity,

with you

pour another?