(no subject)
please forgive my form, dear, for these tiny plastic cubes upon which i press cannot possibly express the love i feel for you. with each click, each tap, my heart grows more frustrated in that they cannot scream to you. these tiny, molded squares grasp sweat and grime from tired fingers, never complaining, only gripping onto their plastic home through which they are given life. they cannot see your face, they know not of your beauty, of your intense, piercing eyes, yet they feel the pressure from the pads of my fingers. each one tapping, tapping, rythmic, musical. sweat runs from my palms, down my wrists, searching for an elbow, seeking absorption. you sounded sad. not the voice i usually hear. not the face i so frequently imagine. the form your lips took were not what i had expected. their bends and curves were erratic and confused, flesh moving to its own beat. you bit down hard, crisp white bone on soft pink muscle, leaving just the slightest trace of your mouth. if only our faces could speak. seperate from our brains, a mind of their own, words they carefully formed and calculated. they would probably scream. they would beg for hands to strangle us with. cheeks begging for you not to kiss them in such a way that makes the heart crave you. "take your lips, take them away from us. your eager touch does nothing but burn us alive." they cannot. speak. argue. cry. run. they must take what we give them with the warmth the blood beneath provides... and we must accept that the dream of your lips on our cheeks will be a permanent fixture in our lives.