Growing into an age

I'm twenty. It's amazing how contradictory I feel. I feel so much more responsible and filled out as a person and yet I feel so inexperienced. So I write poetry. I guess you'll have to get used to me emoting in this manner. It's kind of addicting for me.

I love a fabrication
Of ink and rouge and time.
The twisting calligraphy of personality
Dispersed among the spaces of silence
Voids we filled with our breath
On linen and in each other’s hair

I imagine you a writer
In a pastoral Parisian town
And I an uncompromising artist
Five hundred kilometers away/ Flooding the streets of Florence with colour
My letters would be your wallpaper
And yours the tiling of my floor
Reminding ourselves we are only as distant as a memory

I keep a guest room that you will never visit.
But we make love there every night the sun and moon collide
I love the morning with you
The dewiness of day and
Your frosty breath the cool breeze
Of everything I ever needed
But could never think to ask for.

We lie there, sleeping for centuries.
We are the death of selfishness, the birth of innocence
We are the birds and the grass and the ink and the rouge
We bleed together and time blurs
We love and are love.