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Kadius Hollis Nov 22
I sit by myself, with much disdain,
With only my mind, how inhumane.
Not for the cliché but for her touch,
And I think of her simply too much.

What’s come over me? This is not fair!
I think too much on those pretty thoughts,
Her lips, her nose, the smell of her hair.
Inside my heart, there lie the small knots.

For I’m sensitive to love’s ***** bites,
And these abrasive, yearning of nights.
How can I stand it? Must I submit?
It only happens when the moon is lit.

When the hours grow, a bit distant.
When time stretches so, I can’t see her.
That’s when it starts being persistent.
Then it strikes fast like a saboteur.

Venus or Cupid? Who to accuse?
I hope that it’s not all lost in vain.
Though you might think it, I’m not confused.
This is what I call love rotting the brain.
Kewayne Wadley May 2018
In my mind
Seeing you was the perfect form of communication.
To watch the expression of depth.
Every wrinkle that crinkles the side of your nose.
The sentiment grown from standing so close.
Eyes grown in anticipation.
Every depth expressed.
Explored until we're tired.
In my mind
seeing you was the perfect form of communication.
It's only so much to do behind the screens of phones.
The customization of emojis plastered on blank screen.
A temporary thrill that we enact before actual contact.
In my mind we restrict too much of ourselves with the press of a button.
Cheeks spread loose, folds undistracted by the moment where we ourselves are drawn to life
By what we anticipate most.
Without need to talk as much as we can before an abrupt end.
To consider you without call waiting or the awkward feeling of having to call you back.
Malicious moments before the call actually goes through
The introduction of physical smile.
Separately from the window of a phone
Leaving more room for availability

— The End —