deepundergroundpoetry.com

Stalker.

In the Summertime
I get awful, awful mash-up high
and stumble back to your house
 
in the Summertime
when it's pissing it down sheets outside
I make a call, at three am, to you.
 
I don't mind that it's  
not a two way street,
reciprocated at all.
 
I like knowing you  
aren't far, you know?
I like that you're breathing,
that you're sleeping
alone.
 
I don't mind now,
if I stumble back home,
throw the keys on the table,
strip of the wet clothes that hinder me.
I'll turn off the phone,
put slippers on
and run a steaming bath.
 
I don't mind, no, really, I don't mind
that my head is sinking, in the filth of you,
and that my hair is swirling through the wet air.
I'm not scared,
I'm not scared,
I'm petrified,
falling evermore for your
dark, brown eyes.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
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