It's 4:00 a.m.
And you're holding my hands down.
Your body on me
And your skin against mine,
There's a gleam in your eyes
And the ghost of a smile
Touches your lips.
You're in a good mood, you say.
The kind of mood
That makes you want to cuddle with me
Naked.
The kind of mood
That makes you want to forget
That we fought last evening,
And that we slept in separate rooms
Aching for the other's company.
And the kind of mood
That makes you want to kiss me senseless.
Until I've forgotten my own name,
Until all I can taste,
Until all I can feel,
Is you.
Until I ask you to stop.
But you know that I won't.
I never have.
Not even now,
When it is 4:00 a.m.
And you're holding my hands down.
YOU ARE READING
First Drafts - An Ensemble
PoesiaA collection of my own written pieces- ranging from poetry written with an unhealthy mindset to short stories packed with nostalgia to excerpts, drabbles or spin-offs based off stories or roleplays of mine that are in progress.
