that bitch

.

Does the ocean move in wave and riptide,

Chewing on crustacean chronicles and

Swallowing salted sea secrets?

.

“Do you really love me?”

.

Does the moon admire the earth,

Stuck in its orbit until the watery globe

Grows tired of its stellar existence,

Surrendered to stars, surrounding the sun?

.

“Do you really love me?”

.

Do I speak as I should,

Taking words I’ve found,

Spinning them into shinning strands

Of webbed affection?

Do I give good enough glances to the

glorious organic masterpiece of the Gods

Wearing your skin,

Using your eyes,

Letting your lips create the

most stunning smile I’ve ever been gifted?

.

“Do you really love me?”

.

I’d rather answer this question daily,

Than be accompanied by silence.

The walls don’t need my love

The floor, the ceiling,

The town, the woods, no…

.

Do I really love you?

I’ll lend you my hand,

I’ll give you my heart.

Do I really love you,

Yes, my baby, yes,