ég elska þig

To me,
you will always be weary sighs
and tired eyes,
tangled sheets, unkempt hair,
and the laziest of Sunday afternoons
held close
in your freckle-kissed arms.

The unhurried press of coffee
and the first sip of crisp morning air

The expansive void between my fingers,
the shimmer inbetween seconds,
the freeze in my lungs,
and the yearning in my bones.

You will always be my reach,
my want,
and my need.

You will always be
everything to me


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