he likes to call me dollface
and i let him unravel my threads,
because i'm not quite porcelain like he seems
to think - more so a rag doll, yarn for
hair, buttons for eyes, soft and
easy.
we started as a series of stolen things:
glances, secrets, moments in a walk-in freezer,
and i keep wondering how that all led us
here, stealing time as
he lights a bowl and i
dance circles in his living room
all the while he is watching
like he is in a museum, and i am
art behind a glass to
stare at, never
touch
he reaches out and falls short,
calls me over but never follows through,
pulls my threads and
sews me up again
each time
he calls me
dollface
same boy from snapshots
in case that wasn't obvious
i'll probably delete this later