ir—ene:

I want to do to you what the sun does to May flowers. I want my lips stained red with berries and kisses, the sky alive with poems, faces turned toward the sun as to render them golden and beautiful. We’ll find the heart of the world and make it sing, moonlight tucked in between our hands, our hearts beating to the song of the universe, the sea in the blue of our veins. 

(Source: ir-ene)