The definition of really loving someone

My hands trace the crevice of your back and I feel the way you want me and I want you too.
I planted my seeds for you, I took parts of me and grew you a forest.
Every part of your skin that my fingerprints touch grow daisies, some days but not often, they grow thorn bushes. It's times like these that we really take each other in and we don't make love, we fuck.
We fuck like we just came out of the water and we are our first breaths.
We fuck like we were never liars.
We fuck and we don't care what our families would say, we are no longer our parents babies, we are canvas and paint
And our bodies create art when we thrust, with every stroke your thorn bush cut my skin and I bleed out waterfalls that honeymooners first really kiss under.
But most days we make love, and I mean that we create love, we control the meaning.
It's you and I and daisies.
We aren't lustful teenagers we are lovers.
We forget how sad we are and we forget we are only 19.
Daisies won't ever stop growing out of your pours as long as my fingertips never stop gracing your skin.
You are the garden and my fingertips gardeners.
I get lost in the way your lips get lost in mine, I see comets with our names carved into them, other lips are jealous they don't fit as well as ours.
This is what it means to love
Moulding your skin into the missing piece of mine.
Melting till we forget we are human.
We are 19 and we don't just fuck, we make love,
digging graves as we do because we know good things die eventually.