Here I am; stricken, raw, falling apart, because all I want to do right now, is pull you into my arms and feel your heart beating against mine.
I'm a mess of bloody lips that my teeth chewed up wanting to kiss you, but you're not here, and I miss your taste, so right now I'd just have to make do with the memories.
I'm a mess of an artwork with hardened paint on my fingers because I miss your touch, but you're not here and I keep pressing my hands at everything I see, and for now, blank canvases would have to suffice.
Come here, let me draw gardens on the back of your shoulders and doodle vines around the nodes of your backbone. Let me shove you up against a wall, because that's where masterpieces belong and god knows you're one.
Come here, I've been craving you for so long and this ache in my chest is not going to subside. Kiss me like you did 21 nights ago behind my front door, as I kissed you back with my fingers curling through your hair. My fingers with their hardened paint then; my fingers with their hardened paint now.
Come here, because I keep staring at my hands with their splotches of colors; they're trembling. They're empty. They're the spaces nothing can fill except your hands intertwining with mine. My fingers are dying of thirst, and your skin is the antidote.
Come here, I'm starving for you. It's been too long. According to time, it's only been a few days, but time is something my body disregards. It doesn't feel like a few days. It feels like eternity.
Come here, my lips will recite poetry, line after line into the hollow of yout neck, the length of your collarbone, the sweetness of your lips. I'll write my feelings on your skin, engrave them in the blank parts of you, so that I can recall them years later when my eyes are half-closed and my mind is tired, and all I can do is trace your warmth looking for memories.
Come here, let me rest my head on your chest. I could listen to the beating of your heart for hours. I could feel your ribcage rising and falling with every breath and never not be mesmerized by the serenity of it. Let me trace hearts on the sensitivity of you. Let me breathe you in. Let me drown in you.
Oh god, you have no idea how much I miss you right now.
Come here,
I love you.
― Things I wish I could say without sounding desperate as fuck, S.M.
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Acedia
Poetry[ A c e d i a : ennui ; state of torpor or listlessness ; spiritual apathy ] Poetry attempts / Random thoughts / Musings (P.S. I'm not very good at this, don't expect too much. Thanks)
