i watch his
raven black curls
flowing in the wind
settling perfectly on his
forehead

i smell the
cologne on his wrist
and he asks ‘what do you think’
‘i think you’re perfect’
is what i would say
but i don't

i brush by
his hand
and a part of me
shatters
knowing i won’t hold it

i hear
the melodious ring
of his laughter
putting me in a trance

i don’t taste
his breath on mine
and i wouldn’t mind
having a reminder
of his lips on mine