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inhibition MAG
August 11, 2014
my neurons jump
at the scent
of the cologne you wore
the first night
you said you loved me.
i guess you don't
anymore. maybe –
you never did.
but my skin moans
for your finger pads
pressed into the hollow
behind my collarbone.
my knuckles tell me
at nighttime, in stifled whispers
that they miss the texture
of your stubble
at 6 a.m.,
still awake.
my feet scream
that they want to be
on your denim lap
never hearing you complain
not even once.
you started complaining,
I guess.
© Vansay K., Kannapolis, NC
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