He was a traveller.
Visited every corner of my heart.
Crawled under my skin.
Swimmed in my eyes.
He was a musician.
Played his favorite song.
With my hair being his guitar.
My heart was his drum.
He was a painter.
I was his perfect canvas.
Sketched that curve of smile on my face.
Sometimes painted my cheeks red.
I don’t have words to describe him right.
He himself is a poetry I wanted to write.
Wishing to kiss his sleeping eyes,
Maybe could touch his dreams tonight.