sleep may possibly be the only way
to get to know how your touch feels like.
it is quite upsetting and blissful; both at the same time,
because i often wake up at thirteen twenty three to realise
that i'd much prefer to skip lunch just to be able to let our pupils meet.
and i would be more than glad to tell you of
how our reflections dance in each other's chocolate iris,
—it made me believe that fairies do exist, for in my eyes, you'd witness how these pixie dust melt all over you
or how your warm hands felt like with our fingers intertwined
—my palms were similar to torned maps with these lines as broken paths and yours had the missing pieces, it's like these lines had a certain destination and they were meant to meet yours
but then again thirteen twenty three calls for me and i have nothing but ocean eyes and broken miles.