I'll fawn over you,
And simper,
And cry,
Until you're all dried out.
My tongue's fetishes have grown too big for your small hands.
And I am terrified of breaking you,
But not so much as I am scared,
Of scarring that image's perfection.
YOU ARE READING
Narcissist
PoetryI write poems so that you might like me. // Insomnia induced poetry.
