your skin is precious like crude oil.
it’s highly coveted;
people fight wars over it, kill each other for access.
rare and expensive;
holding you, I feel like a gambler hitting it big—
your body my stack of chips.
oil may be liquid gold, but your skin is creamed coffee
with scattered bits of
soft, dark hair.
you taste like the first sip of the morning.
and just like
caffeine, separation brings withdrawal.
needles trigger relapse for a heroin
addict
and the smell of your bed reminds me of all the times I’ve had you.
the
scent in your absence begets cravings
and I would do anything for the chance to
touch you.
No comments:
Post a Comment