It's cold.
The table is clean and the fork and spoon,
They lay in bed, blanketed in a white embrace.
Are they happy? I wonder...
I watch them, waiting for something,
Thinking of someone else.
I am not alone. Her eyes give her away.
She smiles, I smile back softly.
We touch and our eyes meet.
She's warm, she helps me forget.
She gives me her lips and I drink.
Give me more! I want more to drink...
More to forget why I'm thirsty.
Thirsty for her laugh, her dimples, her skin...
Her hopes, her scars, her warmth.
Etched in forts, in long drives, in eyes, in tacos and salsa verde y roja.
But it's cold now.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
It's cold.
The table is clean and the fork and spoon,
They lay in bed, blanketed in a white embrace.
Are they happy? I wonder...
I watch them, waiting for something,
Thinking of someone else.
I am not alone. Her eyes give her away.
She smiles, I smile back softly.
We touch and our eyes meet.
She's warm, she helps me forget.
She gives me her lips and I drink.
Give me more! I want more to drink...
More to forget why I'm thirsty.
Thirsty for her laugh, her dimples, her skin...
Her hopes, her scars, her warmth.
Etched in forts, in long drives, in eyes, in tacos and salsa verde y roja.
But it's cold now.
