Love Might Stop By For A Visit

Photo-booth happy, she still flinches at my touch, and I want her, but not like that.

I taste her in the morning, and smell her on my clothes. I think I might be in over my head.

I quote to her from a book of love, drafted through years of aborted passions and while she senses truth behind these words, she denies their legitimacy.

She fears all that is not tainted, yet hates that which is; it leaves me wondering if I should be the disease or the doctor. Is there a cure for a soul deficiency?

She bites her tongue and uses her eyes to her advantage, tells me to love me, love me, love yourself and then love me. I can’t take the riddle of her desires.

I can, and I will.

New lips taste like blood, and though I may not be myself anymore, tonight I feel damn near whole.

I’m not sure what you are but I like you… I do. We played as kids together and exchanged dandelions.

It’s good to lie here and to see you in the morning… Things are so seldom simple, but this thing, it’s fundamental; basic.

Our little piece of peace will end when I rise, but, if you let me I’ll stay under these covers till the seasons merge. Two bodies seek shelter from the storm.

Hear the tapping on the window? The rain can be a friend when you’re out of it.

Just stay right here for a little bit longer; we’ll make the clocks disappear.