Don't let me get my hands on you.
Don't let my fingers reach your skin.
Don't let me take off my glasses.
Don't let me take down my hair.
Don't let me smile.
Don't let me speak.
Because once you decide to let me,
you're already dead.
If my fingers reach you,
your skin will egnite and crave for me.
If my glasses come off,
my eyes will consume you into deep sea green pools of sensation.
If my hair flows down,
the sight and smell of me will fill your nose and that's when the addiction starts.
If my lips curve,
their mischievous innocence will fool your eyes into believing that you'll do anything to see it again and again.
If you let me speak,
I will devour you with my words in such a ferocious hunger;
such passion could not be created by the gods themselves.
If you let me speak,
I will speak in a way that will sound like sirens music and you will fall;
deep into my sea green pools and you will drown.
But my smile will ease you,
my eyes will trick you,
my hair will calm you,
and my hands will satisfy you.
Don't let me get my hands on you.
Once I have made my decision,
you are already dead.
YOU ARE READING
Poems For People Who Don't Deserve Them
PoetryLet's go on an adventure and create the best parts of each other.
