Sometimes I wonder what he is doing
I slipped strawberry cake
Through your door grills.
Our hands did not brush, yet they have embraced each other before.
And when they were a nanometre away from each other, I swear, I promise, they were going to
jump into an embrace that they spent months
waiting for,longing for, yearning for,
craving for.
And I recall my lungs breathing out
a bubble of laughter
and you smiled, my god- a fleeting,
sheepish grin.
Mona-Lisa like.
but I've always thought you were the artwork of the Gods
So when gallons of ebony are poured over our world
I find my heartbeat working faster,
my mind running
in sync with it, my fingers trembling
Brain Yelling
that what if it was a picture I painted myself?
You don't even like strawberry cake.
You don't even like cream.
You don't even like me.
Or my weird hands
with their own heartbeat.