Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2021
He flinches when I reach under his shirt
He hates the way his hands shake and blink
I watch the way he shifts when he doesn’t want me to see the stretch marks
And he doesn’t like wearing t-shirts
And he fixes his hair every 2 minutes like the President might walk in the door at any second

But I love touching his soft skin
And I love when his hands hold my thighs as if they’re a comfort
And I love looking into his eyes until my whole body feels like it’s blushing
I think the stretch marks are art and I love tracing them when I’m holding him
I love when he wears t-shirts; the frame of his shoulders and his arms look better than usual
And I dream of running my fingers through his hair when we’re in bed

So I’ll give him bandaid kisses until his insecurities heal

Gwendolyn Alaine
Written by
Gwendolyn Alaine  F
Please log in to view and add comments on poems