"I'm not touching you," he taunted with his finger an inch from my eye. by Peyton Leigh Stille

Apr 2012

"I'm not touching you," he taunted with his finger an inch from my eye.

Staying up late
and knowing you're somewhere close
Dodging looks out windows
causing my neck to writhe
and my high hopes to plummet
when there's no one at my door.

Written by

Peyton Leigh Stille Minneapolis

(Minneapolis)

656

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