Poetry (words)

I don’t 

It would be the cruelest thing to do. For me to kiss his skin and imagine that he’s you. To feel his fingertips while I’m still aching for your lips. So I don’t. 

I stand clear, like a frightened child.  I close my eyes and  see you still driving me wild. Every glance I decline.  Every word is a thrill down my spine. So I don’t. 

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s