It's always that last look that is important.
Right before you look away
and realize you won't see him for a while.
Touch is easily forgotten
But when his eyes burn in your mind
... insomnia begins
A little twisted it may be.
A little unconventional.
Meh, who gives a shit anyway
We're all too high to notice.
He followed me back
And sat in my room
Watched me sleep
Turned each corner with me
Held my hand.
At least I wished he did.
Sleep was the only way to fully see him
And it was now impossible.
His eyes are the most beautiful thing in the world.
Deep pools that both calm and alert you,
make you curse your life for days.
But now, quite frankly, I don't give a damn.
Kinda.