Size 9's and Crunchy Teal Tights
Good morning.
I saw the sun kiss your face,
as it rose over my window sill and poured all over our bodies;
wrapping us in a warm embrace.
Good Morning.
I felt your warm body framing mine,
in a picture perfect scene,
of two people meant to be;
two boys grown to men,
two souls grown into one,
two hearts grown into a life. with.. eachother.
Good Morning.
I smelled the hot coffee brewing,
and pictured us sitting on my front porch,
drinking out of matching mugs,
smoking matching cigarettes,
wearing matching pajamas,
except, i was wearing the shirt,
and you the pants,
not unlike our matching relationship.
Good Morning.
I heard your slow breath
whisper in my ear,
chant a sweet syphany of rhaspy sweet nothings,
reassuring that fact that i love you.
Good Morning.
I could still taste you,
the musk,
the sweat,
the love,
the lust,
the pain,
the tears,
the sex.
i could taste it all,
and memories flooded back to my head,
pushing me back,
pushing me against the smooth, white wall,
onto the rough, wooden window sill,
against the sheer, thin glass,
through the thick, harsh air,
against the cold, unforgiving concrete,
into the suffocating, wet earth,
into the firey pits of hell,
where the burns still remind me of a lost love.
Good morning.
I woke with a start.
Pupils dilating,
cold beads of sweat cascading down the side of my temple,
hot, un justified tears pooling in my eyes,
and escaping across my face.
persperation collected unevenly across my brow,
as my barely-healed wounds burs open in angst,
proving that the pain is real.
I layed back down,
pulled my tear and blood stained comforter up to my chin,
and wished you would heal your own scars,
so you could help me heal mine.
Matty B.
