My hand fits perfectly in yours, as if we were meant to be.
Hands are cold
Your lips leave their marks on my soul.
Lips are dry
My smile tingles as you stare at me.
permeant frown
Your fingers brush the hair out of my face as if I were made of china.
Shoulders bump into mine, shove me around
The sweet words you sing to me are imprinted into my brain.
*Mocking dreams