You're lips, like sandpaper now that I think about it, but twice the man he'll be. A lighter, I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to put it to my lips and burn every inch of your kiss off, but I don't. I simply rub my eyes hard enough to blur the image of you driving because it was always my favorite place to be. In the passenger seat, I'm not the driver. Not in control. My pillow My shirt My hair My hands My lips Smell like you, A Band-Aid drenched in lonely. I'm cold, like snow, but, just as beautiful. And you're black, like coal, but, will always be beautiful.