Sometimes you call for people you can't reach

there's this guy I used to know, I won't say much about him
he was a bit sick in the head, a bit too light in the heart
he wasn't at all a man like you, he didn't have a lot of dignity
I tell you this with my head buried into the crook of your neck
it was somewhere after four and
it'd stopped raining somewhere before three and
I'd left my panties on the kitchen floor
somewhere in-between twelve and two

you'd asked me about my relationships
i'm good with everyone, I'd rambled
"all my relationships are good"
you'd reached for the blunt, a smirk at the edge of your lips
really, you'd asked
sure, I'd mouthed off.
"I cut out what isn't serving me"
you pulled, paused, blew
"what's not serving you?"

lately my heart, I'd wanted to say
it's been a sore riot of a bitch
always thumping along to the
possibility of loving someone fully
a bit of my mind, too
it's going crazy at the thoughts
the thoughts, you know
it's the thoughts that end up suffocating you

instead I pulled you closer, studied the way your
face pulled together when you gave your attention to me
you were rough around the edges, hard at the touch
but there was softness in you
so much softness
a girl could get lost in something like that

you put the blunt out, reached towards me, grabbed my neck
this house echoed with far too many stolen moments and buried memories
I'd burnt the tips of my fingers lighting enough sage to cleanse a temple
trying to chase away touches and kisses that still seared my skin
you peeled off your shirt and molded your hands across my chest
and it'd felt like I was floating when you'd rolled your tongue across my neck

but somewhere
in that house
I was still reaching for things I couldn't touch

     but keep moving, you almost have me




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