Sometimes I worry I won't ever find a love as passionate,
One where I still get butterflies one year in, sitting in the front room near the door, knowing within 20 minutes I'll be seeing you.
One where I just want to be in the same room as you even if we were doing different things: me reading and you playing guitar.
One where I was forever starving for your skin to run my fingers over your shoulders and back as you layer upon my chest.
But then I remember,
The times your teeth would make my mouth bleed from selfish kissing. Were you so into your own pleasure you didn't taste me bleed?
How your passion was charcoal that quickly ignited into a fire that burned both you and me.
Maybe an overly passionate love isn't what I need.
YOU ARE READING
Metamorphosis
Poetry"You do not cease to exist just because I wish you to." Started: 4/3/20 Finished: 8/20/20 My 6th poetry book.
