Sleek lines Tailored to perfection Not a hair out-of-place T's are crossed I's are dotted My god, my hands itch To reach out And blur those lines Pull of the suit Drag my hands through his hair To leave my mark On his perfection -Kel Dayheart
No Show
Crying in a public restroom Still has more dignity Than crying at the table He never bothered showing up to -Kel Dayheart
Faded Stains
I leave a trail Of lipstick-stained loves In my wake -Kel Dayheart
