#clichewriting

With you, it is never about the small things, I guess.
You were never just a star out of reach
or the centre of a galaxy, 
an unsteady wave 
or an outstanding painting; 
you are the universe itself, 
the seven seas 
and a whole museum of art.
I would never compare you to a single ray of sunshine; 
you are the glorious rising, 
the scenery drowning in gold, 
broken glass setting fire to the grass.
But then again, 
a single tip of your fingers on my skin 
is able to evoke a record-breaking earthquake 
and a grin that does not even last a quarter of a second 
could burn a hole into my veins.
And the most attractive thing about you 
is the way your chest is heaving 
when you’re breathing, 
a sure sign that you are alive.