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.