One hand is cold.
One hand is warm.
Then one eye is closed,
And one eye is opened.
The tongue flicks out syllables
When the mouth rounds the words.
All the while, the nostrils take in air,
and the ears are picky listeners.
If it's not one thing,
it's another.
So, we are divided in two,
always conflicting --
grey area.
Nothing special, just thinking about him, and how I could have been a better lover.