I feel like your lips,
and everything beneath them,
belong to me.

I feel like your fingers,
and I want to feel your fingers,
on my lips,
and everything underneath the sheets.

I want to smell like warm tea,
and taste like smooth cream,
and I want you to open my eyes
to your lucid dream.

If you want to spend your time under trees,
I get it,
and if you don't want to waste your time in the same ways,
I get it.
But if you want to hold me,
and mumble ***** secrets that I don't understand to my shoulder,
or smile so that I can feel it on my lips,
then I don't.

We can eat the same food,
and inhale the same breath,
but no matter what happens at night,
it wont matter in the morning.

I know it's easy to have me.

But if I ever find my way to your pale hands,
please don't take me.

I'd like to go for a stroll
on some empty, November night.
We could complain about the missing stars,
we could quietly sing old soul songs.

And if we get a hotel room,
I'd like to sleep in my jeans,
you can wear anything
as long as it's something.
I want to feel classy,
valued,
and I want the same for you.

I want to wrap up in sheets,
warm each other by the glow of our smiles,
I want to get my fingertips tangled in your hair,
and we'll stick to forehead kisses and whispers.

If we don't heal,
we'll at least escape,
If we can't be innocent
we can at least fake.