it has a way of wilting
or blossoming
at the strangest and most unpredictable hour.
but this how love is;
an uncontrollable beast in the form of a flower

You keep asking me about my past lovers
and whether i still have feelings for them.
You become upset when i don’t keep a straight face.

Yet, it is not my fault. For i can’t help but smile when i think about later tonight.
Pore excreting upon pore,
and how my fingers will through comb your hair.

this is it
if i write one more word,
it’ll be the furthest away from a scribble i’ve ever been...