He wouldn't laugh
if he knew
how much of
me
still belonged
to him.
He would close his eyes
(almost -
is that -
regret?
desire?
disappointment?)
if he understood
how my inspiration
is all
derived
from stolen glimpses
of that
stupid smirk.
He would ****
his head -
say my name
(reproachfully?
regretfully?
desperately?)
if he could
feel
himself in
every word
I write.
Though I wonder
would the
disapproval
be for my feelings?
Or simply
for the way I
romanticize them?
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 9:51 PM UTC
He wouldn't laugh
if he knew
how much of
me
still belonged
to him.
He would close his eyes
(almost -
is that -
regret?
desire?
disappointment?)
if he understood
how my inspiration
is all
derived
from stolen glimpses
of that
stupid smirk.
He would ****
his head -
say my name
(reproachfully?
regretfully?
desperately?)
if he could
feel
himself in
every word
I write.
Though I wonder
would the
disapproval
be for my feelings?
Or simply
for the way I
romanticize them?