"i love your nose, no matter how much shit you snort up there.", i told him softly.
chains around his bruised neck
holes burned into his favorite sweater
"i love your mouth, no matter how much shit you let out of there.", he scoffed with a lazy smile.
rotten flowers and my thigh-high socks
black underwear and my wet hair
"you should cover up those bruises.", i teased while tracing them with my middle finger.
the smell of our mistakes in the air
all of our clothes on the ground
"you should throw away those flowers.", he countered while showing me his middle finger.
wind coming through the open window
all of the doors slamming shut at once
"i like things that are considered imperfect."
were my shy words
with ever shyer looks
"and i like showing my imperfections."
were his bold words
with even bolder kisses
- the time he spend between my thighs
YOU ARE READING
THE WAY HE TILTS HIS HEAD TO THE SIDE
Poetrywhen he talks down on me. this one is for him. let me give you this at least.
