Where most would prefer pens,
you’re my ink-dipped quill;
A typewriter to replace the keyboards;
a gramophone that sings me record lullabies;
You’re an ill-timed polaroid snap that
perfectly captures the moment’s essence;
a phone number memorised like the back of my hand;
a mix-tape cassette of all my favourite songs;
Where most express love through captions,
you’re a handwritten note on parchment,
scrolled and ribboned;
My first pack of Phantom cigarettes,
paired with leather- bound books
torn at their spines.
Where others would pinch and swipe,
you’re my magnifying glass.
You’re my pear-shaped spinning-tops collection
that Fidget- Spinners can never outmatch.
You’re an embellished masquerade -ball-mask
in a crowd of filtered faces.
You occupy a space in the multiverse
that belongs to you,
and you alone;
And nothing can ever