I C.

I see how your heart is a diamond-

it is not neat, rather rough-

but all the world’s light is found inside it.

I C.

The two letters that have failed us-

meant to define our sphere-

but our whirlwind could never fit inside such stasis.

I C.

The lovely ick-

the world of words brought forth-

romantic, platonic, relic, icelandic.

I C.

I see how our love is as ironic as it is cosmic-

Neither of us can sleep by ourselves-

But I smell jasmine and you fall into REM to find our catatonic.

I C.

I see how our love is as italic as it is critic-

every smile and pulse accentuated-

emboldened to our overthinking selves as to whether or not we should feel it.

I C.

I have always seen you as the moon to my tide of our sea.

I will always feel you when in the darkness we can’t see.

Romantic, platonic, our love is a tonic-

A cure for the borders of I C.

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