It's his eyes, dark, flat on the bottom, round on the top.
His eyebrows, thick, the same color as his mop.
It's the way he looked at me, like he never wanted to look away.
Like I was the only girl he'd see, like he could look at me everyday.
It's the rough of his hands, and the soft of his cheek.
It was when he ruined my plans, or tickled my feet.
It's the scent on his neck, and the taste of his lips.
It's his kiss I'll never forget, or his hands on my hips.
It's his words that ring in my head.
It's those nights I spent in his bed.
It's his voice, like an old song, I'll never forget the tune--
Sometimes I hum it wrong, but when I hear it, it's as if I always knew.
YOU ARE READING
Better & Worse
PoetryA collection of poems about my love, my heartache, and the moments in-between. Please vote and comment!
