I wanted to write a love poem where your hands are like chopsticks
Fun to use but hard to hold
Or how your touch gives me a buzz
Like Bees heading to their honey
To the flowers to hold the last of the pollon as if but just letting it all go the world will become nothing
Yet something is different when I kiss you
As your toungue escapes into my throat as if you can't use words to communicate so you put your lips on mine to show the truth
As if words cannot describe to you
How the lighting sets perfectly behind you
Proving you the be the center of a stage
But without makeup you show your face
And the audience members may fade but when the show is over I am still watching you
Waiting to see what you will do
And when I rush to your back room door of life and see behind that door I won't wait to open it, I'll come rushing in for more
Because I love more than just the act the show to me
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
I wanted to write a love poem where your hands are like chopsticks
Fun to use but hard to hold
Or how your touch gives me a buzz
Like Bees heading to their honey
To the flowers to hold the last of the pollon as if but just letting it all go the world will become nothing
Yet something is different when I kiss you
As your toungue escapes into my throat as if you can't use words to communicate so you put your lips on mine to show the truth
As if words cannot describe to you
How the lighting sets perfectly behind you
Proving you the be the center of a stage
But without makeup you show your face
And the audience members may fade but when the show is over I am still watching you
Waiting to see what you will do
And when I rush to your back room door of life and see behind that door I won't wait to open it, I'll come rushing in for more
Because I love more than just the act the show to me