Poetry, Romantic

Unrequited

 

“is it about me?
the poem you wrote
about my eyes? that they
hold you, keep you,
sustain you? that moment
when i made you smile,
and i thought it was the trick
of the light, could have
i found the truth
if i leaned a little bit closer?
we never kissed, little
more than hugged,
is it another you dream
of when we part?
i feel the burn too; i wish
i could have been the one
to lap at the mistakes
that splashed down your legs.
i can be the one who
makes your thighs shake,
with only a kiss.
i can be the one who
gets lost in your eyes,
drowns in your pleasure,
and bears the weight of your
scratches and screams.
i can be the one, i can be the one.
how you speak about us, the lack
of us, the longing for us,
the dreams of us, the need for us,
my, how life could be so perfect
when there is you and–”

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