theres this man i know,
he looks like lazy sunday afternoons and midnight drives.
he smells like rain and hot coffee all at once.
he wears clothes made out of metaphors sewn in daydreams.
he walks like the ground is made out of dust and if he tumbles or topples it just might evaporate.
he keeps evanescing in and out of my memory like he's made out of stardust and everything temporary.
he is tall and broad with silk strands for hair.
his hands hold the metaphors im yet to understand and has a nose and a jawline borrowed from a greek god.
he has stars for eyes, and they werent as green as emeralds or as blue as the sky.
his hands, they spoke to me in riddles and sodoku puzzles. and suddenly, they held all of my lifelines and i could see pieces of me hes memorised at the back of his hands.
he braided my hair so carefully like he knew that the tangled strands held all of my secrets.
on days as blue as the sky, his voice sounded like elvis presley and tasted like rum.
and on brighter days, i swear i hear wind chimes in his every pause.
he brings me chocolates like theyre suveneirs from all the places hes been to and im the home he always come back to.
he writes me long letters and postcards and before him, i did not know silence could be written in ink.
you see, the last one i belonged to, was only silent before the strom and now i know silence could be this comforting and calm
and theres this man i know,
he smells like rain sometimes and reeks of love most days.