Fever

and when i see you, i see her, in you, and thus, i stare. it surely is incestuously pleasent. am i to believe i know you as i know her? or know you because i know her?

or i do not know you at all.

you are all strange, all individual, singular and different.

your eyes aren't light, so i dont see inside them, but your mouth is stiff and fast flipping, which is a window in its self. but you seem unreadable so i steer far from assumptions, waiting to be surprised by your similarily strange mannerisms.

and i wouldnt listen to your bullshit, i know you have your share of. i woulnt wait to let you cry on my shoulder. and familiarity breeds contempt, so i will stop laughing at your jokes the moment you feel stale under my skin.

i would prefer it enough, to have you in small slivers, and from a safe distance. i just want to watch, and feel. i'll let you talk for the hours i see you, and give you no comfort by removing my silences or trying to talk.

so just come and go as you should. and even if i itch to touch you, i woudlnt.

this is all you are and it would be foolish and lustful to think otherwise.

keep your charm over me still,

and like she will,

grow old with me.