if i were held captive in a room
with anything i have ever loved,
and was told that i
had to pick one thing,
and one thing only,
to pour every ounce of my love into,
i'd choose you.

over
and
over
and
over
again.

Electricity doesn't fly off of your fingers and rip it's way into the bones of mine.
Your hands are worn and clammy, instead.
I don't feel a deeper meaning when you stare into my eyes like a cat before he pounces.
I feel a longing for understanding, and a desire for comfort and solace in the anonymity of a breath of fresh air; in a new, and perhaps forgettable face.
Trust to care for valuable possessions doesn't translate to "friend"-- especially in such a finite amount of time.
Yet, there's something in the tone of your chicken fried, velvet chocolate voice that tells me otherwise.
Perhaps I am a challenge; an intellectual conquest.
Never the matter, something is brewing,
and I want a sip.