Online Romance Your Hands Are As Cold As Mine
Your hands are as cold as mine. I hardly flinch I'm
looking for ways to allude to your vanity. I don't think
it very kind, when in a pinch, to dig a tomb for the
still-breathing man to see. In my time away from you I
built a bridge suspended by hopes of your river-crossing
ways. These boards I used are tried and true, and but a
smidgen of the arsenal you're owed within this phase. You
shiver once upon the marble of the dentist's office
steps. Your mind wanders; my leg's asleep. I turn your
face from the dark apartment on floor ten, our fingers
entwined for the length that some tea would steep. The
rice and spices lose their heat and go to waste inside of
their plastic bag and furniture. Neither of us want to
eat. 'No, not a taste.' Your skiing career, you assure
me, was amateur. 'Your hands are as cold as mine,' I
barely note, distracted in study. The contours of your
face are so precise and so divine. Girl, in your heart,
will these hands ever find a place? Hey, I hear you
reluctantly grasp for the words you must say. You look at
the faces around us but never at mine. You say that you
can't make a promise and that's totally fine, 'cause I
can see where you're at, and undoubtedly... Hey, I hear
you reluctantly grasp for the words you must say. Your
eyes, they are shining so bright though you're slow to
respond; you see just the fear of the present and never
beyond; so I'll just trace the crease of your palm in the
silence before you go home.
