looking at the shattered tea cup on the floor feels so familiar
do you think if I reached out to touch it, that I would feel a gentle caress on my own skin?
-
if I swept it up
and heard it drag across across the floor
would I make a sound? what if I moaned ever so lightly?
how would that make you feel?
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and if I left the shattered pieces to just lay there
would you pick them up?
I imagine you standing over them
towering, with your 6ft frame
-
I know you would see the beauty in the mess
you might smile
you might bend down for a closer look
maybe you would even touch me
of course you would
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maybe I would ask you to
maybe I would beg for you to pick up a piece
maybe I would scream for you to clench your first around it and feel the stabbing pain that comes with blood flow

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in the hallway of our minds place lays a shattered tea cup
and in the palm of our hands lays a piece of it
and in the gaze of our eye is one another
and the only name on your lips is mine