Thursday, June 1, 2017


Content with discontentment,
Knowing I will never taste your ripening lips 
Or fill my lungs with your oxygen.
Just waiting on sidelines.
Content with discontentment 
I know every inch of you.
Your chest having never grazed my cheek,
But my fingers have tattooed their imprint on your skin 
A thousand times in my mind.
Knowing this gnawing at my soul will never be requited.
Believing your soul will stretch its arms to find another.
Knowing it will never be mine.