I’ve got acres of skin,
and a heart that aches to think of
yours - a quickening pulse when I feel your lips and mine.
I’ve got hands
that trace the lines on yours.
The palm: a life line, fate line, head line. Double entente.
The heart line that aligns
with my line as you press it against the wall.
Your fingers entwined with mine and the other around my throat.
Or is it my brain?
Your blood runs from your heart through
the places we touch and courses through my veins.
I have fingers that dance in the dark. You know they could play a
symphony, but tonight you let me play you and your
fingers tingle with applause.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
I think its those warm brown eyes
that have caused this paint of all different colours
to spill from my fingertips
but i can't wield it to explain how they make me feel.
and think theyre the source of these
butterflies in my chest
but they calm the storm in my stomach and i
think i could get lost if you let me.
the warmth of the americano you made me
i faltered
because it was like looking into those eyes
only the coffee cooling was in my hands
like your hands will never be.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC