If I grabbed your face and kissed you right on the lips,
would you kiss me back?
Because ****
this scenario playing over and over in my head just won’t do anymore:

I weave my hands through the back of your hair,
caressing each strand as if I’ve done it before.
And when our eyes meet,
nothing else matters.

But now my hands feel so cold.
Now everything matters.

Thinking that you’ll kiss me back is the morphine
my heart needs,
to prevent me from kissing you.

But tomorrow I am above the influence,
I could take the chance and kiss you.

I will take the chance and kiss you.