If Jungkook could write a poem,

He’d endlessly write about how Jimin’s eyes are beautiful crescents

His love reflected on his smile 

And his voice like beautifully plucked strings on a guitar.

If Jungkook could write a poem,

He’d endlessly scribble about the way Jimin dances like crashing waves and cool winds

His steps like hurricanes and feathers consecutively on a beat

And his form molded into every curve of impossible perfection

If Jungkook could write a poem,

He’d endlessly write about the way Jimin would hold him close like he was something he could lose

His glow radiated more than the sun ever could

And his arms were blankets that shielded him through the night.

If Jungkook could write a poem,

He’d endlessly scribble about the way Jimin’s kisses tasted like red velvet and alcohol

His fingers traced lines on portions of Jungkook’s skin like he was drawing a home on his body

And his hands guide the way like rocky paths on an unknown forest

If Jungkook could write a poem,

He’d endlessly write about how Jimin was real yet too unreal both at the same time

His presence was imprinted on Jungkook’s existence like a permanent tattoo that was hard to remove

And all Jungkook could describe Jimin were in metaphors

Because Park Jimin could not be merely described in simple adjectives

But abstract sentences like nature, galaxies and fantasies

Because Park Jimin was worth more than “beautiful, hot, smoking, handsome, hunky”

But then again yes, he was. But Jungkook wanted to give him more than that

Because Park Jimin was home himself, with the soul he wanted to wake up next to every morning and the soul he wanted to sleep next to every night.