He tastes of the city
Lights laying down skyscrapers on the tip of my tongue
Sidewalks tracing my skeleton body
My hands crept into his shaggy hair
Tracing mountains on the back of his neck
His hand ventures down my back
And I empty my breath into his lungs
He breathes me in as if he is running out of oxygen
It is a beautiful kind of survival tactic
That only the lovers and lustful know of
I have fallen into his hurricane eyes
Wrapped up in his arms of rope
I am tangled in his shoelaces as he steps onto a subway train
Stumbles over to a seat and puts in his headphones
I have learned you need to find someone whose favorite song
Complements yours
Someone who makes you a little less tired
As he steps off and lights a cigarette
His lips curl over the inhale of toxins
I sometimes wonder if I were deathly
Perhaps someone would be addicted to me
He walks down the street to a small bar
Where everyone knows his name
But they do not know him
He drinks and drinks
To the point where he cannot see straight, but he can make it home
He makes small talk with strangers
I collect the words he slurs and tuck them in my pockets for safe keeping
He slips the key into his door and I cower at the sound of it unlocking
He crawls in to bed just after stripping his jacket
Dawn is not so far away, he sleeps like an angel is guarding his door
The night changes, washes it's skin in the approaching sunlight
Picks off the stars from its shoulders like stickers
And in the morning he will call
But we are not love
We are not love
We are something
But not quite love
Not quite yet