my unsaid words to you,
could fill a hundred paged book,
perhaps even a trilogy.

Our knees were touching
And my hand was shaking
Eager to hold yours

Your voice was too
Reading that piece of poetry
Making me chuckle

I can't wait to miss these days.

i'm five years old
& i wait
for you to
look at my drawing
and compliment me.
. . .
i'm ten years old
& i wait
for you to
watch me while i play
and protect me.
. . .
i'm fifteen years old
& i wait
for you to
tell me it's ok
and comfort me.
. . .
i'm twenty years old
& i wait
for you to
realize i've lost my way
and notice me.
. . .
i'm twenty five years old
& i wait
for you to
take a few minutes
and call me.
- - -
it's the eleventh hour
& i'm still waiting
for you

hold a cigarette up
to my oxblood lips
ash falling down
my diamond-studded wrist

I'm the siren
fire of your desire
live wire

tripping over in my
six inch stilettos
sipping on Prosecco
singing in staccato
all the words i wrote
&
all the songs
i want you to hear

all while the smell
of sweet Black & Milds
circles the strands of
pin up curls
that frame my
porcelain skin
and you caressing my neck
taking it all in.