(no subject)

[bombamerica]

love is a strange thing,
cuz its a secret thing.
friendship develops
between your lips and his hair.
there is room
In his laugh
for you to breathe in,
intelligence in his thoughts
for you to live in,
but does he want you there?
will he keep you there?

you pound on the wood
demanding
his attention,
the lover pounds back
he doesn’t hestitate,
you learn that he’s feeling
the same way.

this is where your love
becomes a secret thing,
you get on your knees
and you kiss his knees.