Sunday, Burning.

This is just something I wrote yesterday after he left my house:


I have a red warmth
burned onto my skin,
and a boiling blaze jumping from my heart
to my thighs.
My God, he’s beautiful.
He has strong, comforting arms,
flat sides, and wow aren’t those eyes soulful!

My feelings for him haven’t dissipated
— they’ve hidden
under a dusty rock, in a dark room,
behind the lockers, under the floorboard
of my mind.
Yes it was physical
but he has a heart and a mouth that I both adore.
Badass he might be,
but romantic and tight he is too.

My little rebel
why not come back to me?
I may not always have it together,
but you are my ethical hero;
I want us to have something.
Love, come back to me.

I thought I was over this.
Apparently not.

Edit: I’d like to point out that this is not about the same guy as my last poem was.


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