Your rotting lungs
and your decaying
smile pull me in
like the lassos your
eyes have hooked around
my waist.
Pulling me closer
with your blinks
your chest and
heavy breaths.

Maybe I don't want to
treated like a princess.
Maybe I'm scared of
what I don't know.
I feel safe with him.
And safe isn't a feeling
I'm familiar with.

Maybe I don't want
to be at ease.
Maybe I want to get
into car wrecks,
hold your hand walking
back to our point A
as the sun shined
brighter and we had
a new appreciation for
life.
leaving the scene before
the EMT's showed
you got whip lash and
I got internal bruising.

We shook in our
boots. but just seeing you
I feel more passion
than I feel making
out with him on the couch.

We live in different dimensions.
Empty embraces,
hormonal rides home,
hopped up on dope,
but it's all empty.
And he says he loves me.
But maybe it's just
infatuation, baby.
And....
I wonder what my
touch feels like in
his dimension.

He says he loves me
but it's the kind of love
that never hurt anybody.