Sweet Lassi Streets

I want to put you under a microscope to see what lies inside. The joy behind your tears, and the pain beneath your smile. I want to pour your essence in a beaker so I can run some tests. Your face is like the world’s most comfortable blanket to a man that needs some rest.

I like being sober around you more than I like getting drunk. Your eyes remind me of autumn leaves and climbing trees for fun. The more time I spend looking at you, the harder it is to look away. A billboard with your picture on it would block traffic for days.

Your breath sounds like fields of wild sunflowers rustling. I know to you most of this seems mildly disgusting. I want to tell you things I wouldn’t normally say just to see how you react. Your lips kiss like whiskey sours and burnt toast with blueberry jam.

I want to put you in a suitcase and take you everywhere I go. Your hair smells like salted caramel in a world of chocolate ice-cream shampoos. I’m a cautiously optimistic hopeless romantic but can’t think of a witty line. Hardly anything else rhymes with ‘uncultured swine.’

I want to stroll with you down sweet lassi streets, where innocence and dreams recover. In a recurring cast of monochrome characters, you’re a splash of vibrant colour. I want to know the things you love and why you love them, and what could garner your hate. Writing usually comes easy, but when it comes to describing you I struggle to articulate.


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