I touched her last night and waited for her to tell me to stop
Not an “I’m not ready” stop
Or an “I’m not into it” stop
The kind of stop that writes I’m playing you across your skin
And etches you’re not good enough into the binding of your mind
So that every page you flip whispers worthless at the beginning and end of each line.
So that every page you flip whispers worthless at the beginning and end of each line.
therecoverypoet.com 