he doesn't make me check my pulse to make sure i'm still here
or my teeth chatter and lungs shrink like the time you ordered me dinner
or the girl sitting next to you talk about how our names sound combined
he's spun me around, but you've wound and twisted more than my body
"that's the not the sort of cute I'm talking about, sweetheart"
YOU ARE READING
ennui
Poetrywill i fork lightning? will i catch and sing the sun in flight? highest: #12 poetry
