all i can think about is back seat heat
palms sweating like a race horse
nervous eyes meet nervous pills
i feel i am almost as bad at this as
d a n c i n g -
as if i could ever understand your finger tips
tired lips
painting a mountain out of me
but i’ll dance to the concerto of your whimsy
your soft smile
eyes as green as palm tree leaves
and my finger tips remember the creases in your jaw line
cacophony of measured miles
drunk off all of you like i
like i am a child learning to walk again
your lips to a truly can and oh lord
i am dancing in your
s m i l e
(all your words are harmony / magic)
let me bottle them up
like a keepsake
and my tilted breaths are saying
please never wear
that type of sweater again
because as tired eyes
stare back at
y o u
i cant rest until
until i have access to
every
beautiful
inch
so until then
we dance around the water line
(catfish to a smile)
