Longing

Your hands are cupped.

In the center mass of this hole in my chest.

I'll bleed out the best of me,

while your thirst is being met.

Meet me at my last drop,

If I haven't bleed out just yet.

You'll tell me that I'm pretty.

Just as the first time your eyes cut into me.

We'll slow dance to the radio,

with it's dial on your designated station.

I'll stand on my tippy toes

straining not to meet your ecspectations,

but just to see you and greet you

with a warm welcomed kiss.

You'll smile sweetly,

and throw a giggling fit.

And we'll laugh as we once did.