I know that I **** you-
Just a little bit every time.

I hear the slight whimper escape your lips
Like a baby thirsting for milk.

Torturing you
With the blueness in my eyes.

Perhaps it’s cruel,
nurturing this tension
For my own aspirations.

Keeping you within fingertips distance
Then abandoning you again.

But you make me feel like art,
and that is lovely.