Many yearn for holding hands, but I've a preference for your fingertips. Romance is best felt by the lovesick; just a bit.
And no, I don't completely lose myself in your eyes, so much as I do in your glances. All my joy, a stop-motion film, when I picture you dancing in the living room.
And while soon after it's easy to recall your perfume... It's no match for your hair and its divinely inspired aroma. Subtly paralyzing; you would think I'm in a coma...
But it's a period of just hovering.
Just savoring my favorite aftertaste of your shoulder blades and collarbones; like ghostly undertones.
You should know I'm impervious to "sticks and stones..."
Words aren't my enemy.
Not when I enjoy the precious melody that your velvety lips conceal... Your words are lyrics for me to feel more than just five -
I feel fully alive. That must be a sixth sense. And it only seems to make sense when it all barely escapes me...
When the moments are fleeting -
When I squeeze through the door as it closes -
And I'm received with love in small doses.
About the Creator
The Rogue Scribe
Writer. Narrator. Author of 'The Art of Patience, Gratitude & Courage'.
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