The Problem With You
The problem with you is the blanket of love coils around your neck like bright tapestries and leather padding, keeping you warm and you try sharing this blanket with me. The problem with you is happiness falls in your laps like an apple to the ground on a chilly wither morning and you dig your white teeth in it, filling it with tender warmth and how the softness of it kisses your long hands slender, giving you all of what it possessed.
The problem with you is when you look at me the glimpse in your eyes is the same as when you look at the color of the sky on your mother’s birthday, a white yellow. The problem with you is your skin is a soft wave on water and I am the whole ocean drowning.