Why do you play the role of a side,
when our love could be the main event?
It always feels like I'm just making love next to you,
And we both know it's not right,
like a clandestine rendezvous with a *******.
Why do I shower you with gifts,
when you barely acknowledge my existence,
sharing my deepest secrets with you, only for them
to be your farewell gift?

I cleanse my vision,
trying to rid myself of your haunting image.
I'm not a swimmer, yet I found pleasure
in drowning in the depths of your thigh's, last night.

Steaming my spectacles;
the only way to capture your breath,
we shared a few smoky moments, and I noticed
your capacity for holding things in,
in those puffy cheeks of yours.
We ventured in and out of your home,
and weaving in and out of their sheets,
There was a lot we could've discussed after,
but nature always called you away.

I tend to prattle when I'm at ease,
you slept on my arm, muffling the torrent of my words,
my wit often coming to my rescue as something so handy.

Regrettably, we only truly connect at the peak of a ******,
and whether I decide if I enjoy the simplicity of that,
This melancholic sensation in my heart,
it's an entirely different climate.