The way you sway--
the way you lock me in--
the way you walk into me.
I want it all.
I want you to lock into me;
stop me from resisting temptation by being my only temptation.
But, that doesn't happen:
let's pretend war and macabre escapades
grace what we are, who we are; you, me. Pretend to make-believe.
I want to make other things.
Like love instead of war.
Like kissing you in the dark.
Like touching you in the light.
Like love hate you, when it ends,
I want it all.
I want to stop regretting you.
I want to keep a distance,
but I want more than ever to be close to you.
As always, I keep a distance.
You copy me;
us mimes: creating mental boxes
and circles, never-ending circles.
Forget Shakespeare.
This is one of the worst plays to star in.
Forget Cleopatra and Mark Antony.
I am questing for a page that carries you and me.
I want to be your prose.
I want to be your poetry.
We can make sweet rhythms
instead of lonely soliloquies.
No more tragedies, no more comical errors.
You are a recurring sickness,
and I don't want to recover.
Take me in, lock me into you.
One day, I want to tell you.
I want to lock in everything you hide from me,
and everything
every time
everywhere
I hide from you.
Longing for your embrace,
and the smiles you never fail to give me.
I want it all.
I want you.
Why do we keep our distance?
