it must be Tuesday

 The clock runs backwards
while Iím waiting for your call
the day stalling in anticipation
for your voice on other end of the phone

And Iím not ready for this
the heart racing
want to throw up in my mouth
canít stop thinking about you

Because I donít know what Iím doing
here with you
I donít know what I want
when your hand brushes my skin
in feigned platonacy
and we talk with the freedom
of loverís post-cigarette
in the moonlight

You say you knew me
before you met me
but I donít know you at all
and I love the adventure
your rhetoric represents
past the road signs to nowhere
because I swear I dreamed of you
someplace far from here
hands outstretched
telling me we could remake the world

But I donít have the courage
to turn my mouth towards you
when your lips are pressed
against my cheek

So I close my eyes and pretend
I donít feel what I feel

The clock runs backwards
while Iím waiting for your call

© Indie Adams 2016
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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