welling up like a punch to the chest
i am aiming my words at you
dead in the centre
it has been two hours, one minute, and twenty-seven seconds since i last said your name,
and its starting to ring like a tired fire alarm
single file out the nearest exit
tugging at my arm, you are like a sick baby, wanting wanting everything you see
i would tell you emptilly that next time i will leave you in the car
but i dont even own one
you have not seen my face enough times to notice a change, so maybe i will wait a while
i am not not not an ever morphing "changling", i only experiment every now and then
if i am lacking in any area please dont hesitate to point it out
i would rather know what you hate about me than guess and have the insecurity.
if i bake you a cake, you are more than welcome to lick the icing off the spatula,
my finger tips, or the side of my neck, because my breath escapes anyways why not quicker?
cantelope is round and sweet but my melons are of the flesh, skin is the only thing separating us, now how do we take off our birthday suits and ties?
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