(no subject)
There once was a time when you cringed at the thought of letting go. You would hold me so close to your body that even the pores of my skin opened up to welcome you. You squeezed the handles of my hips so hard that it left an impression of your finger tips. You molded my bones like clay to leave your mark. Well dear, since then I have tried to find other loves who would be willing to fill the holes with their own hands, but sadly, none of their grips could match the deformity you left on me.
So now I lay in bed at night and slide my own finger tips into the handholds you created. Our hands and fingers always did intertwine together like the perfect puzzle pieces; having your palm in mine was a key to it's keyhole. Oh, the measures you take for comfort.
So now I lay in bed at night and slide my own finger tips into the handholds you created. Our hands and fingers always did intertwine together like the perfect puzzle pieces; having your palm in mine was a key to it's keyhole. Oh, the measures you take for comfort.