My love for you depends on what shirt you are wearing.
And the placement of your lips when you aren’t talking.
I wonder what you sound like when you are angry.
My love for you depends on if I am looking up at you.
And if I am able to smell you.
Show me my place.
Draw a line through my hands, dammit.
Here. I won’t touch you.
I will make sure a glass door is installed.
No, a steel door.
With a lock.
My favorite smells are pine, mint gum, and your neck.
You taste like flesh mixed with a sun warmed forest and old coffee.
I could put my lips to the hairs on your chin for 2 hours straight.
wait.
Let’s climb a mountain.
And then lay under a blanket of 1 am.
I need to ask you.
When will I stop building spider webs,
just to dissolve them like spun sugar?
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