I gently rest on you my hands,
to reshape you, like the ocean does the sand.
I gather your wrists in my palms.
Lying skin to skin, pushing shudders through our calm.
My blistered smile, revised, renewed.
Color returns to me. I regain my hue.
For the longest, I tried to refuse.
I claimed the smile on my face, was not at all because of you.
You must have done something right.
or filled some sort of gap.
because every noise that's not your voice,
just sounds like breaking glass.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
I gently rest on you my hands,
to reshape you, like the ocean does the sand.
I gather your wrists in my palms.
Lying skin to skin, pushing shudders through our calm.
My blistered smile, revised, renewed.
Color returns to me. I regain my hue.
For the longest, I tried to refuse.
I claimed the smile on my face, was not at all because of you.
You must have done something right.
or filled some sort of gap.
because every noise that's not your voice,
just sounds like breaking glass.
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