My dearest and truthfully truest Valentine,
Beat exquisitely heart of mine own for none but the rhythm of our hearts pulsing may cause such grandeur; such monumental light and banter free, and heat enough to weave tungsten rivers betwixt mountains we had once loved.
Dear sweet man, your silvered hair is the moon that kisses my skin and your eyes project forests into mine oceans. I am truly the most fortunate lady that you may flatter or perhaps even love me one day.
I call not upon magic nor wishes for your heart to cuff itself to mine. I call upon you and your remarkable mind, nature and adoration for language. Tell me how to say “I love you” in your seven different tongues. I want for nothing more than to express those three words in every way you might understand. Be mine tongue tied or caressing the syllables.
My sweet, blue prince this is a love letter to none but you— for you have riddled my soul with patchouli and velvet and cloves, my mind with poetry and cursed these eyes to see faces but not beauty. May these eyes befall only your form and find humanity in its physical epitome. May these hands hold the small, broken parts of you and love the depths you drown me in. May we challenge one another for aeons as we fall through each other’s subconscious and lay arm-in-arm, at the bottom of us looking up. Watch the moons wax and wane and plan our plot in the stars.
Forever, I will love you,
Your little bird