I fear those impulsive stumbles
of thin words and empty observations,
The air of comfort smothered
when receptiveness falls in doubt.
Concluded by farewells and ends
between fairweather friends,
blank conversations fall
from moment to memory.

Sing Me to Sleep

If words fail me,
you are to blame
for your eyes that steal my thoughts,
my second-hand professions
of love.
I'm beautiful when you look at me,
so don't avert your gaze.
Is it selfish that I need this love,
this feeling of content,
of sudden, overwhealming perfection?
I can only hope my kisses reveal my desire,
my heart for your embrace.
For the first time,
I feel like there is no mistake,
that these butterflies found me
where I should be.
I am delighted that you see something wonderful
in my flaws,
those less than lovable traits
I had to point out for you to notice.
I'll claim that sparkle in my eyes
as utter surprise that you,
charming, curious you,
would allow yourself to think I'm beautiful.