longer still

I yearn for the sinew and the lace, that composes your delicate frame.
the love letters get shorter as the winter grows colder.

fingertips that ache to touch the edge of your bed with such a sudden perversion to be cheek to cheek with you, wounded breathing, your laugh, muted by a milligram, the tilt of your head, awkward, I allow your forehead to fall forward, caught by my chest.

and you dont know me by just drowning in my eyes. you need to really fucking lose yourself and crawl under the skin.

times square is burning. and the scene is euphoric, i lose myself in these bass lines and bottles of alcohol , we were never meant to touch, i was never meant to make it out of your bed alive.