FeelingMature

There is a feeling,
that I do not know what is called.
That fills me
to the top
and spills over.
It is the feeling
that is there,
when I have to watch you go.
When my skin
is no longer warm,
no longer tingling,
because your skin is not against it,
because your fingertips
are not dancing along it.
When I am not
looking to kiss you
looking up into those eyes
that I am so lost in
and leaning in slowly
only to have you pull me in
and leave me pumping,
breathless,
and aching to kiss you again.
When you are no longer
pulling me close,
and holding me tight.
This feeling
overwhelms me
when I watch you leave
because I do not know
how long I will have to wait
until I can have you do it again.

The End

26 comments about this poem Feed