Love in Fragments.Pdf

LOVE IN FRAGMENTS: THE SAPPHIC ISSUE © Honeyfire Literary Magazine, 2021 Editor-in-Chief: Lauren Poole

Cover photo from Unsplash Cover design by Lauren Poole Content warnings: sex, nudity, brief mentions of discrimination.

Letter from the Editor The idea for this issue came from a conversation with a good friend of mine around Christmas. She was telling me about a new queer film that came out in December, a supposedly ‘feel-good’ festive rom-com which just had to involve conservative parents and a girl in the closet, of course. I can’t say much about the film itself; I didn’t watch it, for that exact reason. Any representation that is done right is a very positive thing, and I don’t mean to take away from that in the slightest. But the fact is that stories about queer people are few and far between, and those that do exist in mainstream media almost always seem to focus on the characters’ queerness as their entire plotline, their only defining feature. While it is incredibly important to start conversations about the struggles that queer people face, particularly sapphic women and nb people, it is equally as important that queer people see ourselves represented as people, as unique, whole individuals, not just as vehicles for stories about homophobia. Queer people deserve to see ourselves being happy, and accepted, and normalised. We deserve to see queer characters who aren’t reduced to their identities. We deserve to see queer characters who are as whole and unique and proud and diverse as we are. When I was about 16 – a very tender age in my queer self-acceptance journey – I first watched a TV show called Person of Interest. In it, there is a badass, unique, adorable wlw couple, but what really struck me about them was that they just were. The people around them treated them normally, there was no potentially triggering homophobia or biphobia directed at them, there was no struggle to accept who they were. They were allowed to just be. For me, seeing that was huge, especially since one of them was bi, like me – I felt seen, and it was a turning point for me in my journey to accepting and embracing my sexuality. Like many sapphics, much of Sappho’s body of work was lost; her story, like these often condensed, simplified queer stories in mainstream media, has never been fully told, and has often been erased or discredited. It’s been told in fragments. It’s for that reason that this issue, containing paintings, poetry, prose, photography and collage art, pieces together a mosaic of queer stories without the usual fixation on suffering, discrimination and coming out. It is, I hope, a bigger picture, a portrait of being sapphic as being whole, being bright, being loved, being proud. Being sapphic as being, without apology, without shame, without constant struggle. As always, thank you to all of you who shared your work with me. Thank you for helping me create a space for our stories. We deserve to tell them in more than fragments, to see more than the sharp edges of our identities represented. I hope this issue is a start. Lauren x

TABLE OF CONTENTS and did Sappho? by LuLu Kimmel-Miner – p.6 the temple by Olivia Snowdrop – p.7 assuaging of doubt by Gianna Santucci – p.8 if you were to ask me why I love women by Amber Shaw – p.9 because a girl loved me first by Maddie McGlinchey – p.10 being sapphic by Chloe Erin – p.11 fifteen by Samantha Nimmo – p.12 she by Skyler Saunders – p.13 coffin thoughts by Isabelle Julie – p.14 dawnbreak by Lauren Poole – p.16 sapphic4sapphic by chip – p.17 god is my aesthetic and it scares me by Taj Despotovic – p.18 unafraid by Samantha Nimmo – p.19 dyke by Chloe Erin – p.20 drunk in love by Shan O’Connor – p.22 I want to date a girl by Rachel Hepburn – p.23 the cities we build under bedsheets by Lauren Elizabeth Taylor – p.24 to love a hero is a tragedy unto itself by Susa – p.25 the subliminal us by JM Chadwick – p.26 kiss me by Samantha Nimmo – p.27 a communal love poem by Isabelle Julie – p.28 reaching by Cassie Senn – p.30 you ask me if I love you and I don’t understand by Lydia Palm – p.31 dream girl by Harley Dean – p.32 little wood nymph by Zoe Baber – p.33 viper-soft by Rowan Suthren – p.34

4 john 13 1-17 by Gianna Santucci – p.35 when I say she is everything he was not by Maddie McGlinchey – p.36 lights by Silvana Smith – p.37 I dream of kissing women and it’s easy by Clementine Valerie Black – p.38 benchmark by Katherine Ebbs – p.39 on loving by Caitlin Anne – p.42 soft love by Maddie McGlinchey – p.43 love in a mist by Claire Kroening – p.44 to Sappho by Nadya Syplywczak – p.45 women love women by Rachel Hepburn – p.46 pizza date by Alisha Brown – p.47 loving her is easy by Cassie Senn – p.49 braiding her hair on a Sunday afternoon by Celia – p.50 her muse by Jordan Ingersoll – p.51 heat by Denise Riqué Anrubio – p.52 blackout poem by Diane Lato – p.53 the waves and the sun by Erica J. Kingdom – p.55 imagined connections by Amber Macintyre – p.56 she is always the colour yellow to me by Amber Macintyre – p.57 silent flowers by Celia – p.58 the sun by Chloe Erin – p.59 can we stay like this forever? by Shan O’Connor – p.60

AND DID SAPPHO? by LuLu Kimmel-Miner (@luluwrites)

THE TEMPLE by Olivia Snowdrop (@oliviasnowdrop) girl wants to date me. girl wants to take me out and show me how to snooker. girl wants to fuck me in the corner of a small town pub and i let her. girl hands me mulled wine and stands real close. girl doesn’t care about my clothes. girl thinks femininity can be whatever. i like girl. she meets me at the train station. she doesn’t care what people think. i think girl is special. baby, aren’t they all? girl wants to catch bowling at ten and kiss my neck at nine. girl isn’t mine. but she could be. she could be.

ASSUAGING OF DOUBT Oil on canvas // by Gianna Santucci (@gianna_santucci)

IF YOU WERE TO ASK ME WHY I LOVE WOMEN by Amber Shaw (@lastnightapoetsavedmylife)

BECAUSE A GIRL LOVED ME FIRST by Maddie McGlinchey (@mgm.poetry) because a girl loved me first i ache for a softness he will never provide, begging boys to hold me gently the way only women ever could. i tangle my hands into the hair of every boy i kiss— trying to find something to hold on to. i write boys into fairytale princes— or maybe i just write them into women; all i know is my heart is always asking for a love that they do not want to give me.

BEING SAPPHIC by Chloe Erin (@chloewritespoems)

FIFTEEN by Samantha Nimmo (@sn.poetry)

Rum soaked kisses Teeth against teeth in drunken smiles Fifteen year old heart stumbling over the edge I dare you They say and now I dare you You whisper with your arms around my waist and I I was never one to back down from a dare The night is so cold but you Your hands are so warm and I Cannot help but focus on the way they feel against my skin Laughter and spinning and stars in your eyes and More kisses but no dares this time Just us And the night And everything I never let myself think feel before now And we say it’s just the drink but We fall asleep holding hands Legs tangled and tucked under warm blankets Hearts giddy and everything everything feels okay now I feel okay now Nothing this beautiful could ever be a sin

SHE after / blackout poem of the song by dodie by Skyler Saunders (@smilingatmysandwich)

Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong when she’s just so nice to look at? And she smells like lemongrass and sleep. She tastes like apple juice and peach. Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture and she means everything to me, oh. I’d never tell. No, I’d never say a word. And oh, it aches but it feels oddly good to hurt. And she smells like lemongrass and sleep, she tastes like apple juice and peach. Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture and she means everything to me. Oh (Oh, oh). Oh (Oh). Oh (oh, oh). Oh (Oh). And I’ll be okay admiring from afar ’cause even when she’s next to me we could not be more far apart. And she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall, but to her, I taste of nothing at all. And she smells like lemongrass and sleep. She tastes like apple juice and peach. Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture and she means everything to me. Yes, she means everything to me. She means everything to me.

COFFIN THOUGHTS by Isabelle Julie (@poetryfromthelighthouse

DAWNBREAK by Lauren Poole (@laurenapoetry)

SAPPHIC4SAPPHIC by chip (@whentheresteeth) (red thread, your fingers, mine) and hey, what else would be a more perfect metaphor for this than hands ours, tied, not only together, but to the same threads no mirrors for us to look into scared to walk out in the sun too many stares into some girl’s neck or wrists or hands the second time i stay over i take off one flannel only to end up in another when i close my eyes and think of the me that outgrew girlhood by only using other girls’ eyes as pretend mirrors i know i can talk to you about it in the morning i know i can look into your eyes and see myself, right there

GOD IS MY AESTHETIC AND IT SCARES ME by Taj Despotovic (@lilac_field_of_poetry) Dear God, up above Please bring my lover down to me. But my God doesn’t care Nor understand the depth of our love.

My dear, he shall smite us down, Your red hair and fair skin will go up in smoke. For our god does not love us, And turns a blind eye at our love.

The almighty, up above, He shall drag us down, won’t he? That’s what he told me. We will burn for eternity for our love.

My love, deep down I know, I know he’s not real. When you hold me close, kiss me, God doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

In the end, he gifted me to you. He created us for one another. He put us on this earth, you know For us to be in love.

God can strike me down with his lightning, Throw me into the pits of Hell, But while I’m in this earth with you, I shall fulfill my destiny.

God bestowed me upon you, He meant for us to be in love, My destiny is with you, my dear And with you, God doesn’t scare me anymore.

UNAFRAID by Samantha Nimmo (@sn.poetry)

DYKE by Chloe Erin (@chloewritespoems)

DRUNK IN LOVE by Shan O’Connor (@Shan_Oconnor_) We take the train back to my apartment tipsy off the vodka we snuck into the concert you rest your head on my chest I can feel your pulse racing my arm lays across your shoulders keeping me close you gaze up at me I can’t tell if you’re drunk or in love maybe both the vodka always hits you harder you kiss me like we aren't in a crowd of people on a disgusting smelly subway at 2am you kiss me like I’m the only one that matters

I WANT TO DATE A GIRL by Rachel Hepburn (@hepburnpoems) i want a soft mouth full of promises that will actually be kept. i want everything soft but also the sharpness of a tongue that knows my brain. i want every day to feel like an art gallery because i am staring at art in my bed. i want to be seen through rose-tinted glasses all day, not just at night. i want my hand sweating on a woman’s in the middle of a train station rough and bustling but we are so soft melting in the middle of it all. i want to date a girl.

THE CITIES WE BUILD UNDER BEDSHEETS by Lauren Elizabeth Taylor (@laureneltaylor13)

TO LOVE A HERO IS A TRAGEDY UNTO ITSELF by Susa tell her you love her and she'll smile and whisper that she loves you as well and under the blush of the blooming sky it could almost feel enough she's gilded in the burnished gold of her youth and she looks like forever like an eternity of gentle words and gentler touches her hands carry the scars of war, bruised and calloused, but you alone know how tender they can be when she cups your face and whispers drowsy dreams into your hair but the war batters on the walls around you and you can see the way it calls for her with promises of glory and honour And how she yearns to call back with offerings of bone and sinew

When she kisses you, you can taste blood in her mouth and you can see in her eyes that she's not truly there in your arms oh they've made a hero of your lover they'll make a martyr of her yet

THE SUBLIMINAL US by J.M Chadwick (@jchadw1ck)

O Aphrodite! O Eros! I’m pleading now.

I can see myself-- Velvet-suited, olive green. Dark circles, cut with color. Opposite a force to be reckoned with. Standing behind the curtains of the Earth. . Love is so, so costly there, but I have many pennies. I always have felt as though the disciples of Sappho felt so Extravagantly, so beautifully, so much. Able to find the hearts in clouds so easily, able to make their water-fountain wishes and dandelion breaths seek the true and the fated in ways that are holy and godlike.

Sappho tells us:

In the spring twilight

The full moon is shining: Girls take their places as though around an altar

What lovesick, windswept muses we have been since the beginning of time. Filled to the brim with want, with love!

Butterfly swarms and angel wings, worshippers of the finer things.

One day all love will be fulfilled, and the Isle of Lesbos will be flourishing. Till then, my golden wristwatch ticks on, I listen with intent, and keep on watching the sky for her.

KISS ME by Samantha Nimmo (@sn.poetry)

A COMMUNAL LOVE POEM by Isabelle Julie (@poetryfromthelighthouse)

I pressed violets and thought of you and how when I look at the moon it is the same that looked into the faces of La Maupin and Frida Kahlo and Audre Lorde

I thought of park grass tickling bare feet and how ivy creeps up hairy calves White wine spills on red gingham blankets and you taste delicious I thought of sinking teeth into homegrown carrots and the crust of fresh loaves of bread and into soft skin and hearty laughter

We dip our hands into winter sunsets; they come back dripping pink In lingering twilight — frosty night never quite falling — you free yourself from the encumbering weight of spare hair Blunt scissors cut to the chase until wispy curtain bangs frame your face

I pressed violets and thought of you and viewing films as time machines, tracing grooves of drama in an attempt to find history at my finger tips Bubbling pots and sizzling pans and watering cans nurture us and calathea and speckled silver vines A new goddess is born, coming into herself — a patron of invisible bonds forged from lived experience You get down on your knees only for Her and Her and Them

Colour-coordinated pleasure erupts from

28 boxes, foaming like the sea The aftermath is as soothing as lavender oil rubbed on wrists and temples I thought of embroidering the profile of your nose on my pillow case — fuck monogramming initials: this is how you know I'm yours

I thought of love note poetry scribbled in between classes in handwriting closer resembling impressionist brush strokes than letters and of answers neatly tapped out on typewriters The rain caresses our faces held up to it; when it chases us inside, hands will wrap around mugs filled with sweet-tempered warmth

Clever fingers dig into the skin of oranges tear them apart and pass the segments around like thoughts on book club novels I press myself between the pages — find me in another life or else I shall find you

NOTE: This poem was written by compiling and weaving together the answers that sapphic people gave to the question "What is something that makes you feel connected to being sapphic (that isn't necessarily inherently/exclusively for sapphic people)?" A big thank you to all of them for sharing ! :-)

REACHING by Cassie Senn (@poems.c.h.s)

YOU ASK ME IF I LOVE YOU AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND by Lydia Palm (@poet._.tree)

DREAM GIRL by Harley Dean (@perturbed_poet) i. She says "I love you" with her eyes. She says "I need you" with her hands. Her closeness can mean "I want you" or "It's okay" or "I'm here". Her touch means "Kiss me". ii. "I wonder how your eyes see me." She rolls over and presses her nose to my cheek as I ask, "Do I shift from "she" and "her" to "he" and "him", or am I a constant mix of the two?" I feel her smile, her lips patting my cheek as she speaks. "You tell me." "Well, I feel like both, I guess." "Then that's how my eyes see you — as you." She looks deep into my soul before she kisses me. iii. I wake up at midday and wish she was more than a dream. I wish she was a warm body beside me. I wish she was every star. Every Infinity. I wish she was the planet Venus. I wish she was the apocalypse.

LITTLE WOOD NYMPH by Zoe Baber (@strawberysyndrome) you, shapeless under the wrinkled cotton sky buttoned up with stars. you, half-god and half drowning in the silver water, buoyant in the mouth of the moonlight. mother earth holding you in her teeth and promising not to bite down. you and your deals with the hands that made you. divinity as a teenage girl in a filmy nightgown with wild red hair, stumbling through the woods. they'll paint it one day, and you'll be the waif with mud clinging to her heels, and i'll be the thing you're running from, past dark and heavy, lumbering evil incarnate. you, crucified at the intersection of our hometown streets, where you used to hold my strange little girl body like it was the moon in your palms. you, martyred in a glowing bedroom as the ceiling fan spins around again, you, dying for our horrible, romantic little story, where i reach for you and then you turn to water in my palms. before you go i always search your eyes for an answer and all the stars scream back at once, fragile and loveless, a funeral choir that arrived a minute before the body crumpled to the ground.

VIPER-SOFT by Rowan Suthren (@ro_etry)

Notes: T his poem is a sapphic take on the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice as well as the biblical story of Adam and Eve. I was also inspired by a show I saw at Battersea Arts Centre in London a few years ago by the company Little Bulb Theatre where the characters of Orpheus and Eurydice were reimagined as the 20th century French jazz musicians Django Reinhardt and Edith Piaf - it was an incredible showcase of musical talent and ingenuous creativity!

JOHN 13 1-17 Oil on canvas // by Gianna Santucci (@gianna_santucci)

WHEN I SAY SHE IS EVERYTHING HE WAS NOT by Maddie McGlinchey (@mgm.poetry) i mean she is all soft words and sweet smiles where he was biting remarks and sharp teeth / i mean she is good morning texts where he was midnight messages / i mean she is pure light where he was nothing but a shadow / i mean she is cupped palms where he was bloody knuckles / i mean she is blooming sunflowers where he was always decaying roses / i mean she is a hand to hold where he was cold shoulders / i mean she is the dawn breaking over the horizon where he was always dusk rolling in on the clouds / i mean she is everything sweet where he was a bitter aftertaste / i mean she is a sunroom where he was always dark corners / i mean she is the hope i’ve been seeking for years / and he was only ever meant to be a ghost story

LIGHTS by Silvana Smith (@eggexplorer)

I DREAM OF KISSING WOMEN AND IT’S EASY by Clementine Valerie Black (@clementinevalerieblack)

BENCHMARK by Katherine Ebbs (@katdoespoetry)

ON LOVING by Caitlin Anne (@caitlinannepoetry) others claim the word bisexuality and jealousy stirs in my stomach hot and hurting. I don’t know why it aches but it always does

I do a survey for my school and I hover over the question asking if I identify as lgbtq and none of the answers feel like mine. or maybe one does and I’m too afraid. I know the survey is anonymous but I still feel stripped and raw I picture loving in peach and I see her face. I think I could be happy. her or him. I think I could be happy either way maybe one day this won’t hurt. maybe one day I won’t have to ache.

SOFT LOVE by Maddie McGlinchey (@mgm.poetry) i’ve always thought i’d have to compromise chemistry for kindness— but now i think maybe i could have both; because her hands are soft, but i still feel electricity in her lips, and when her eyes meet mine, my heart can’t stop racing— but it finally feels safe; it’s taken me years to realize that sweetness does not have to be hiding something sinister— and that sometimes hands are just hands— not something sharp, not something dripping in blood; maybe i don’t have to see red to know that it’s real— maybe i can submerge myself in adoration and come out clean.

LOVE IN A MIST by Claire Kroening (@clairerosek)

Waves crashed in the ocean Of her ever-pounding heart For a girl who gave new meaning to art; With cuffed jeans And loosely-spun curls, There's nothing more she'd love As an queer teen wishing upon shooting stars.

TO SAPPHO by Nadya Syplywczak (@the_wrong_vows)

WOMEN LOVE WOMEN by Rachel Hepburn (@hepburnpoems)

PIZZA DATE by Alisha Brown (@godisalisha) // typed version below

PIZZA DATE by Alisha Brown (@godisalisha) I don’t necessarily want an orgasm. More than anything I just want you to tear off my crust and layer it into your mouth with doughy, stickied hands. Relax – it doesn’t have to be serious. We can watch Spirited Away without the subtitles and lean on each other for language and other things. Lust and excess are two words for the same wolf. I told you to wait for the full moon when she would be equally swollen but Domino’s does cheap Tuesday and so here we are. Are we? If I’m honest, I feel everywhere else. I feel whisked away to Santorini making fibrous love in linen sheets. I feel myself in static above the couch, fibrillating in a mad rush to merge and move and conquer. I feel every instance of friction between our fingers as though they were tobacco I could roll and smoke and pull deep into my lungs. Pass the papers, would you? I’m scared to leave these lips idle. No I’m not. I’m just smoking to gift you a pretty silhouette to picture on the drive home. If I’m air and ether you cannot touch me: only fuck me with those beautiful hands.

LOVING HER IS EASY by Cassie Senn (@poems.c.h.s)

BRAIDING HER HAIR ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON by Celia (@poetceee)

On a Sunday afternoon I realised what it felt like to touch the sun. I braided her hair in the front room and let the golden rays fall between my fingers and wondered if the sun came to earth in human form then would it look like her. I let her talk about the sun. When you like someone you’ll let them talk about anything just to listen to them talk. I think if I buy her flowers then they’ll be sunflowers so she can have them in her room and know each day how she makes me feel. We sat cross legged on the floor in the front room and glowed in daytime harmony, her with her back to me which made me happy because she couldn’t see the way my eyes darted, cheeks flushed, and fingers twitched each time she brushed against me.

HER MUSE by Jordan Ingersoll (@jortsport) originally a gift for and inspired by my girlfriend who helped me come out as a lesbian earlier in the year! (Roses and peonies being our favourite flowers).

HEAT by Denise Riqué Anrubio (@deniseconealfinal)

BLACKOUT OF ‘MAD WOMAN’ BY TAYLOR SWIFT by Diane Lato (@diane_writes) What did you think I 'd say to that? Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? They strike to kill , and you know I will You know I will What do you sing on your drive home? Do you see my face in the neighbour’s lawn? Does she smile? Or does she mouth, "Fuck you forever"? Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you 'll poke that bear 'til her claws come / out And you find something to / wrap your noose around And there's nothing like a mad woman Now I breathe flames each time I talk My cannons all firin' at your yacht They say, " Move on", but you know I won't And women like hunting witches too Doing your dirtiest work for you It's obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy What about that? And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you 'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out And you find something to wrap your noose around And there's nothing like a mad woman I'm taking my time, taking my time 'Cause you took everything from me

Watching you climb , watching you climb Over people like me The master of spin has a couple side flings Good wives always know She should be mad, should be scathing like me , but No one likes a mad woman What a shame she went mad You made her like that

THE WAVES AND THE SUN by Erica J. Kingdom (@ericajkingdom) Only death do us part are the vows said in church, Two stand there, a woman and another, waiting for their marriage; a bound of two loves. They’ve saved and saved and saved for the day they can confess their love. Birds of all shapes and sizes perch to witness a marrage of two, One has a dress of red and the other of blue. One witnesses the sun light the water in beautiful ways, The other witnesses the water and lets it lovingly clear the way. And she loves the way the sun plays with her waves. And she loves the way the water washes her worries away. They both know: the rainbows won’t fear them but sing out their names in glory, They scream with pride in their lungs and flames of victory in their hearts, “I am sapphic, and there’s nothing wrong with me! I’ll embrace who I am, for I am the best woman I can be.”

IMAGINED CONNECTIONS by Amber Macintyre (@ambermacintyrephotography) Sadie lay diagonally in her bare bed, cotton sheets coming off the corners, duvet coming out of the cover ruffled at her feet. Her hand pushed at her white pants. Nothing else against her skin but the cold air, raising goosebumps. The tiny mountains erupted energetically, proof of the divide between this cold room and her body getting hotter, her face feeling flush, her chest heating up from the inside. Her nipples are hard again, because it's cold out of the duvet, or because it's hot in her body. Her fingers are feeling her from the inside, getting wetter against the dry air. She focuses her mind, staring at the white ceiling, which becomes hazy, the edge blending with the bare walls, her edge becoming less lucid. As she rises and rises, she focuses her mind to fill the expansive blank canvass with what she needs - her partner’s face is frozen on the laptop screen now lying metres from her bed, synchronously moving her own body many borderlines away as Sadie floats fathoms from earth.

SHE IS ALWAYS THE COLOUR YELLOW TO ME by Amber Macintyre (@ambermacintyrephotography)

SILENT FLOWERS by Celia (@poetceee) If someone else was the poet I imagine they’d disregard my summer suns and all those fields of gold I grew for her in sunflowers and buttercups and write me instead a sky of deepest blue because blue is the colour of all oceans I’ve never crossed, of longing and loneliness and great loves lost, and they’d probably feel sad for me for I have hands that never really touched and lips that kissed but only once while the things they wouldn’t see, couldn’t see, would be hidden deep inside of me where there is no deepest blue of any kind at all, not anymore, for while I used to think in shades of blue like blue walls and blue rooms I’d tell all my friends about, now I grow flowers for her in silence, fields of gold and glittering, hidden and watered deep within, in all the places some other poet writing me could never even dream to see.

THE SUN by Chloe Erin (@chloewritespoems)

CAN WE STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER? by Shan O’Connor (@Shan_Oconnor_) Can we stay like this forever? in the moments before you wake you snore, a sound I’ve come to love your bare chest slowly raising one hand outstretched looking for me the other draped across your chest I reach for the hand looking for me your fingers locking with mine I smile as you kiss my forehead a soft gesture my heartbeat steadies itself our bare skin is still entangled under the light sheets from the night before I can feel the goosebumps raise on your thigh beneath the tips of my fingers I press my lips to your forehead a soft lingering kiss before meeting your lips with mine tangling your curls and caressing your face these are the moments I live for the reason I wake up to be with you