I Like You the Most
I like you the most when your
Hands are on my neck.
Your fingers are large and cold and
Mold perfectly to the
Small nape that directs a narrow
Pathway to the
Rest of me.
And,
I hate myself for being hopeful.
I pretend to be
Busying myself with books and papers and pens,
When really,
I am only waiting for the
Light to hit your eyes and
Electrify me.
And,
I am empty when
It doesn’t.
I accept the unwholesome absence of your
Pale arms leaning against
My door frame.
My neck feels cold,
Because I like you the most when your
Hands are on my neck –
Feeling for eternity.
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 3:28 PM UTC
I Like You the Most
I like you the most when your
Hands are on my neck.
Your fingers are large and cold and
Mold perfectly to the
Small nape that directs a narrow
Pathway to the
Rest of me.
And,
I hate myself for being hopeful.
I pretend to be
Busying myself with books and papers and pens,
When really,
I am only waiting for the
Light to hit your eyes and
Electrify me.
And,
I am empty when
It doesn’t.
I accept the unwholesome absence of your
Pale arms leaning against
My door frame.
My neck feels cold,
Because I like you the most when your
Hands are on my neck –
Feeling for eternity.