decaying roses sitting in a vase
astonishing words come from your pen but your lips are stitched up
you make me have butterflies in my stomach, at display at all times
it seems like I'm an exhibit; please stare straight through my ribcage
sipping slowly on some nice red wine
a picnic during a thunderstorm
your glance shoots through me
like the harsh strike of a lightning bolt
your kiss on my neck leaves dark purple bruises
tracing all the way to my pursed lips
your puppy dog eyes and my ever so fluttering heart
please, just tell me what you want
do you want all this to be directed at you?
force my hands, tell me what to do
my attention time and heart
all
taken up
by you