Sweet Nothings, Part 1

I
You frost exotic lips with domestic gloss
then offer your demure smiles through them. You blink
eyelashes over full-moon eyes with half-moon heart.
Tell me: do you feel like a monument here?
My arms around your soft torso will hold in
your poltergeists. I will kiss belonging onto your
hesitant, snowglobe cheeks and comb assurance through
strands of black hair until you sweat out your missteps. Please,
let me be a patchwork quilt hung over your disbelief.