As cologne wafts in the air above pillow cold from lack of pressure
I think of you.
He's got the type of body that makes me want to write a poem,
type of smile that makes you forget where this was goin',
Perfectly chiseled, like Adonis even,
So much a work of art I steal glances like I'm theavin',
And even though the hazel browns glimmer in time to twilight,
I'm scared of him.
I got off the phone with you two hours ago,
and your voice is still in my head,
not because it exudes sexiness,
which it does,
but because it's cryptic.
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