After you left I suffocated myself in the candlelight I burned for us. I poured the wax on my heart in hopes it would remold into something that doesn’t just beat to live, something that emotes. Your truest identity is hidden beneath a forest of follicles that I tango with just to get to your sensations. Can you feel me now? I’m knocking on your conundrum and spelling out my past times which I hope would one day include you. I continuously ask you about your past times to see where we intersect. Your words are so chalky when you speak, I play hopscotch trying to dissect your speech.
Would you tell me if I’m wasting my time? I have to remind myself that we started off as something so casual and how could this be anything more? It’s because the way you glance over at me shifts my internal thoughts. You plant your own pots in my floral lined medulla. I can only interpret body language and we seem to have enough of that, but what do we do if my body can no longer talk back? I anticipate a sonnet in every effortless exhale and instead, I get a spontaneous chuckle. You’re so handsome I start to despise my eyesight because staring at you can become a gaggle of misread epiphanies. Unbalanced romances, where I stay up wondering why you left.
You tell me that it’s easy for you to fall and that’s why you stick to your responsibilities. You leave when I ask you to stay. You maintain a balanced diet and I’m just the kind of fat that can exceed that but I’m also as organic as it gets. You churn your insides to deflect affection. You toss romantic ideas out because you feel they’ll drain your creative aspirations but creativity is inspired by love daily.
You deserve me.
And I’ve always desired you.