Jun 2010
Is it really the same song and dance? Or can there be a new tune? … A new beat to move to, a new song to hum.
Will coexistence bring me to the one I’m supposed to exist with? You’re there, I’m here. Who are you? Am I your one?...When do we know who’s the right one?
Feelings of elation followed by feelings of question…. Did I say too much? When is enough, enough?
Do you wake with the same smile you fell asleep with?
Did he make you laugh so much your face hurt?
A hurt that you wished would never leave.
The only gift he gave me was happiness.
Your eyes don’t wander and you don’t speak about others, because you know he’s yours and you’re his. We never spoke about this, and we liked it like that….
You’ve traded your crunchy peanut butter for his creamy one. Morning breath never tasted so good waking up next to him….
He bears no flaws.
He breathes deep and your head rises on his chest.
Pitter, patter.
His heartbeat resonates while you sleep. Is he thinking about you, dreaming for you?
You change the person you are, without changing at all.
You want to be better.
You don’t need that last hit or that last bump. You’ve traded this high for the high you feel when he lays his head in between your thighs. A feeling better than any high.
He calls it home. He’s home. Together you’re home.
You feel it rolling off your tongue, but you’ve never said it. It crosses your mind, but you let it go.
Touching, touching. We’re always touching.
Butterflies are child’s play compared to this feeling.
He makes me quiver and I make him hard.
How many 11:11s have passed when his face rushes to your mind?
You don’t need to wish anymore, you’re lucky enough. You’ve sworn off wishing, because you’re not greedy.
Until:
the tingles lessen and the touching weakens and the smiles go missing.
His chest is no longer your comfort, but you’ve become used to the pillow.
He doesn’t care if he eats peanut butter or not and he asks me to brush my teeth.
You quiver from the coolness of the room and he goes to the bathroom to *******.
You want it to roll off your tongue; you want to let him know.
But we’re not touching and my thighs are not home.
11:11 comes but two times a day.
I begin wishing and hoping and dreaming.
Guard your heart.
Will coexistence bring me to the one I’m supposed to exist with? You’re there, I’m here. Who are you? Am I your one?...When do we know who’s the right one?
Feelings of elation followed by feelings of question…. Did I say too much? When is enough, enough?
Do you wake with the same smile you fell asleep with?
Did he make you laugh so much your face hurt?
A hurt that you wished would never leave.
The only gift he gave me was happiness.
Your eyes don’t wander and you don’t speak about others, because you know he’s yours and you’re his. We never spoke about this, and we liked it like that….
You’ve traded your crunchy peanut butter for his creamy one. Morning breath never tasted so good waking up next to him….
He bears no flaws.
He breathes deep and your head rises on his chest.
Pitter, patter.
His heartbeat resonates while you sleep. Is he thinking about you, dreaming for you?
You change the person you are, without changing at all.
You want to be better.
You don’t need that last hit or that last bump. You’ve traded this high for the high you feel when he lays his head in between your thighs. A feeling better than any high.
He calls it home. He’s home. Together you’re home.
You feel it rolling off your tongue, but you’ve never said it. It crosses your mind, but you let it go.
Touching, touching. We’re always touching.
Butterflies are child’s play compared to this feeling.
He makes me quiver and I make him hard.
How many 11:11s have passed when his face rushes to your mind?
You don’t need to wish anymore, you’re lucky enough. You’ve sworn off wishing, because you’re not greedy.
Until:
the tingles lessen and the touching weakens and the smiles go missing.
His chest is no longer your comfort, but you’ve become used to the pillow.
He doesn’t care if he eats peanut butter or not and he asks me to brush my teeth.
You quiver from the coolness of the room and he goes to the bathroom to *******.
You want it to roll off your tongue; you want to let him know.
But we’re not touching and my thighs are not home.
11:11 comes but two times a day.
I begin wishing and hoping and dreaming.
Guard your heart.
