what i like most about you is your hands.
they make my head a mess when i see them.
they are bony and i can tell you work with them a lot.
i hold my own hand in crowds of strangers and i pretend that it is yours.
they look delicate and fragile but a man's hands are ruthless, therefore i would never let them touch me.
i want to keep this image in my head.
i want to believe that you are true and genuine and full of love.
so i pretend that your hand brushes my cheek when i lay down to sleep and i pretend that you want to touch me and know every part of me,
but a man's heart is clueless, therefore i won't let you love me.
so i will just pretend that you like me maybe just a little, and i will continue to glance and smile, putting myself in your mind.
i will pretend that you care and that i am not hurting by a facade of needing and wanting.
i will pretend that you are mine and that you really, really love me.
r.k.
YOU ARE READING
Meathead Monologue
PoetryI wanted everyone and everything; all the time and all at once. [volume ii] [poetry and prose] [2017-2019]
