Acid-washed,
sipping in the summer
of your grit eroded
hands,

not a mans hands,
not worn with work
but plastic knobs,

you are a boy still,
with boyish hands
and narrow hips
and a selfishness
I can taste in your kiss.
(It's still just as sweet)

Resurrect me,
time-out,
save game data
pause.

You smell like winter blues,
old-west movies
and soft skin.
You're the only home I've ever known.

Pick-axe,
Zhonya's Hourglass,
Feral Flare,
Level-up

Max-level
let's platinum
I'm not ready
to give you up yet

*(I leave in less than three months and I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I love you so much)