I'm laying here.
Waiting for your words,
Your promised passion,
and all I'm feeling is frustration.
My fingers brush your skin,
begging, craving your attention,
outlining the shape of your face,
those eyes, those lips.
but all you claim is wasted space.
You underestimate my passion,
my intellect of interest.
Your wasting my time, my words,
I have no more left to give you my love,
no more passion,
no more rhymes.