I find it hard to wash the taste of you out of my mouth
I struggle to keep that forever feeling of your hands
clenched into my hair.
I go through phases
of wanting your fingerprints consuming every inch of me
& senselessly scrubbing them off my body.
Watching as it all washes away into the drain below me
These thoughts
These feelings
A temporary fix
& yet to this day I am sorry most of all,
that you won't choose me.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC
a conversation like a broken record,
the cold dimly lit kitchen, warmly nostalgic.
the flaw of remembering only the sweetest things,
a glutton for complex empathy.
daydreaming of tracing the smile lines around your mouth with my fingertip.
until the tea kettle interrupts with a scream,
another elusive fantasy.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 2:03 AM UTC
picture you and I intertwined
picture you and I fusing at the seams
consuming one another
wholeheartedly
picture something better
move on
nothing but these illustrious memories
gasps
sighs
out loud
your fingertips were the worst thing to ever happen to me
they were
you've paralyzed me
snapped my spine
in more places than the curvature of your mouth could ever meet
left me immobile, where I once sought refuge
stricken
stuck
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC
I kissed the air and knew you had never been here
maybe one day we would share the same air
If I yell from the highest building in my city
and you yell from the highest building in your city
Will the screams ever meet?
It's one hundred degrees and I can barely hear the record player over every fan thats blowing
I haven't moved all day
I'm starting to think this mattress has taken a real liking to me
Bringing me reoccurring dreams of you gently kissing my knees.
Sometimes these stitches get so tight
I can hardly open my mouth
all my wisdom teeth are falling out
So many unimportant things our bodies create
only to be removed
only to stop the pain.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC
Your private heart is pure, with light beaming from the youthful cracks.
I can hear those thoughts tip-toe around inside your head
Five whispered confessions
At four in the morning
Three sighs slip from your lips
The two of us tucked away under blankets
And how I want to be one of the only things
You can't imagine your life without.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC
patron saint of crisp book pages slowly turning
in the pale dawn morning light.
a sincere exchange, unbecoming.
an entanglement of two intense energies,
mingling, flirtatious briefly.
"you are a flower."
sunlight now filtering through the beams,
caught in those warm eyes,
smoke and coffee mutually on our breath.
patron saint of holy **** i missed you
more than i realized-
a ghost of the past
magnetized to this familiar feeling.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC