I never thought my hands would look nice held in ones of polish, chipped and black
In fact, it goes against my own advice, but once I’ve crossed, I can’t go back.
I never thought I’d want dark and twisty like the licorice in your pocket
Because Nicholas Sparks makes my eyes misty, and your eyes roll hard in their sockets.
You’re hopeless, and I’m a romantic, soft and gooey like caramel chew
My touch isn’t rushed, and yours is frantic; a bit unsettling, but still so new.
My mom would hate your earring’s dangle, my dad might mutter, “sick motherfucker”
But I like your silver chains’ jangle, and I’m simply sick of citrus suckers.
You’re sharper than shards of icicle glass, joking about my love for the sky man
Everyone says this feeling will pass, but I’m not quite sure it can.
What started as an inky smear has become a staining smudge
And where my eyes hold doubt and fear, yours have edge and grudge.
But when you look at me they crack like your lips into a smile
You spit a halfhearted comeback, and I let myself melt in your guile.
And you let me wear your rings, slipping from my pointer and thumb
You let me sing of saccharine things, laughing while you call me dumb.
What caught your eye was the sparkle on mine, blue hidden by gold glitter
What made you stay wasn’t how they shine, but how my words could match your bitter.
You don’t know what boat shoes are; I don't know how to line my eyes
You don’t know how this got so far; I don’t know why I went counterclockwise.
But now that I’ve had a new flavor, I’ll add you to my list
I think this is one I’ll savor; it’s like sugar, but with a twist.