"alays" poems
Nights like these reminds me of when we'd sleep together
Naked and cold, but together under the softness of our sheets.
I've always liked the cold but it seems to alays bite my skin.
The cold creeping up my skin as your hands chase them away.
Your hands that seems to have mapped me out months ago,
Roamed the entire surface of my body as I'm pressed against you.
Hands that can be as light and gentle as you ghost them over my neck
Hands that can leave the darkest bruises on my hips after they went.
Hands that were pressed against my back as were tangled up under the sheet.
Hands that cards throught my hair when we kiss till our bodies lay quiet in our sleep.
Hands that are now miles away from where im lying down, cold, under the sheets.
Hands that I've grown used to that now has me wanting, still waiting for it.
it turns out that I dont like the cold
Never had
Never will
My brain had just adjusted to the pattern that the cold nights would mean your warm hands would be back on my skin.
And it is a pattern. It was, I should say.
Because I never had to face a cold night alone
Until the night before this day.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
I sit on the far side of the room
looking at you
not looking at me
and I see her
and I see him
and I feel tears
and I run from fears
And I know that none of us know
that we dont always have to smile
we dont alays have to put on a show
I see fears
I see tears
tears on him
tears on her
I sit on the far side of the room
looking at you
not looking at me
and I taste
the saly sweet of my sadness
going down down down
Im going down down down.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC