His arms feel like home, I feel safe when we're alone.
But God he makes me weak.
His eyes pierce holes in my lifeboat heart and I sink every time he stares. His hands pressed against mine, contrasting sizes. A house compared to a chair.
His tantalising fingers trace circles on my hand. As if I'm a road map that must be traced in a deliberate plan.
A smile so crooked an artist would scream. But his smile is an artwork in itself. Cheeky, cunning and very sexy. He reminded me of New York City. Every night I made sure he text me.
Speaking of NYC and her scantily clad models, I made sure I looked my best. Just in case he wanted me, in case I got undressed. In case he bit his lip and looked me up and down, in case he grabbed my hips as I tried not to make a sound.
It's so easy to have your way when you speak like a bottle of wine.
It's so easy to scrape lips against someone else's like you're high on more than life.
You always knew my favourite subject was history,
so why force me to go to another class,
when you know I'm sitting there thinking,
about nothing but the past?
YOU ARE READING
Ephemeral and Sempiternal. (A collection of poetry from 2015)
PoetryPoems that I recently decided described my path through 2015. Most are brooding and dark, because it was a hard year for me. Most of these poems are about one person in particular. If he ever reads this, he knows who he is. I'm no longer going to a...
