Some people hate the smell of smoke
To me smoke meant early Thursday morning bongs rips
And the sun fighting it's way through the curtains
His 8 AM shirtless skin against mine and his face in my neck
The way our lips would play and tease each other, longing and smoke on our breath
Until we drifted back into dreams
Because we weren't about to let the morning win
To take that away from us

The waiting is what slows me down,
The waiting makes me weak.
The waiting that draws out my days
And keeps me from my sleep.

The waiting keeps me dwelling long;
Gives hopes of nothing more.
When I decide to recognize,
I'll be waiting here no more.

Waiting weeks for something good
Or expecting something bad,
Keeps my mind on what just might;
Not all the great I have.

Why cant you just understand?
Why do i have to say it out loud ?
Why must u hear the words with you ears ?
Listen to the screams and tears of my soul .
Listen to my silence . Hear it . I beg you . Hear it
Please just hear it

~

He whispered,
'I'm the type to write love letters with my tongue between your thighs..."