I saw it in his eyes
In a twist of those lips
A manufactured smile and a trill in his Voice
It’s in the warmth of this touch, and that feeling Of flesh on mine.
He wraps that comfort around my doubts And asks again,
But I couldn’t feel it in the flames—
My skin stopped burning with his touch And all this raging fire behind my ribs Felt frigid when he tugged me tighter. Scared to bruise his bruising heart
“I’m your conscious daydream,
I’m your awareness with a machete. I’m A why at every point blank statement And my thoughts,
They’re the spiraling staircase
You climb for the Milky Way.”
I untangled that comfort
And undressed his quiet contentment —I took his hand off my flame.
Belinda is a wandering psychology student with a penchant for self-reflection. You can often find her with a mug of peppermint tea by a lofty window, pretending to read a psychology book.