6.16.2017

I feel darkness creeping into me

The lines on your face are more defined when the lights are off

And I can sense the quarter century you own on the surface of your skin

 

I am not sure how instrumental I want you to be in the functions of my life

Windows and opportunity clouded by aesthetic, struggle, and momentary satisfaction

All of which are not my own

 

When did you begin looking at me with a critical eye?

And getting this drunk

Panicking when the flask is empty — the word “need” perched on the tip of your tongue

(Like an addict)

 

I want your warmth and softness without the sharpness of your glances

Or half-promises

Or indifferent kisses

 

Can you at least pretend that I’m still magic

Please touch me

I still melt beneath your fingertips

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