Tickle my…
Finger tips graze lips to tickle taste
Buds from flower pedal backwards with no hands down sidewalks of brick.
Built up build up under nail
Beds where we’ve let our bodies dance between
Sheets of paper, yellow wrinkled notes
Crumbled old dreams of used up hope and expired desire.
The label on love should say, Directions: carefully place rose colored glasses over eyes.
Caution: Product is meant to clarify vision but instead may cause blindness.
Use Sparingly.
Time spent wiping hearts off foggy windshields because old love always seems to reappear.
What started as a love letter ended as another chance to practice my cursive
Because god forbid we detach the hands held between each letter.
Even they need something to hold onto.
Turns out love songs, our song, is just a musical representation of the way we once felt.
Equivilant to my memory foam cheek which holds the shape of your palm on it.
Unshakeable twilight dreams of breakable red light kisses under stars of inescapable beams and planets labeled Mr. and Misses.
And if the universe could whisper I know I’d be the first to feel the tickle of his breath pressed against my ear.
Pulled in close, overlapped souls, I’ll stand corrected if ever the wind blows.
