Home and him.

It has been a while since I had posted something I’ve written, and I really wanted to. The Whiskey Words is still going on. Tomorrow is the last date to submit, though. Enjoy!


I’ve been asked
time and time again,
How can a person be your home?
Now, how do I explain this?

When I am with him,
I wear comfy pajamas and absolutely no make up.
I confine to the wall of his arms,
and cry with my face buried in his shoulder
like a kid holding a pillow to muffle his screams.
His dimples are the trampoline to my fingers.
Every time Lust and love,
his best-friends, and our guests
come over,
I dress up fancy and serve myself.
Honestly, I just sleep all day in his arms.
And even though I need no-one,
He protects me anyway.
He makes sure I walk on the right side of the street,
And that my hair is tucked behind my ear.
Home isn’t built in a day,
and neither were we.
Like wizards without their chosen wands,
And Ross without Rachel,
I am alright without him,
but completely empty inside.
If I was a goddamn house,
he would be my furniture.
Like a sailor on a quivering boat,
in a black night storm,
I miss him when he isn’t around.

What else do you get homesick for,
if not a home?
And I love him so much,
with all my heart.
Home is where the heart is.

So yeah, he is my home.
Two arms, wavy hair, brown eyes,
breathy voice and a musical heartbeat.


Also, I have thought about doing a little something on the side. I’ve written an erotica and published it on Wattpad (you can read it even if you don’t have an account), and might convert it into a series if you guys like it. Do read and respond by leaving comments here or on wattpad. Go there by clicking : here.

Tipsy.

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I’m a little tipsy,
From the day I tasted your love.
I wasn’t a fan of cheesy one-liners,
or fancy anniversaries.
I didn’t believe in wanting to hold a hand,
even four hours past midnight.
I could not even imagine intimacy,
and lust with my three A.M. shoulder.
I did not think I could be,
A Cinderella and an Anastasia.

You like sunny afternoons,
and me in skirts.
You love my Nutella eyes,
and my tan lines.
You’re -I’ve got no other way to say this- hot.
You open doors,
And still let me pay my bills.
You’ve got my back,
and my behind (*ass).
Do you have any idea what you did to me?

I actually miss you every night.
I hold my pillow against my chest,
As if it was you.
I reach the coffee place way before you do.
I wake up early to watch you sleep.
I do the cheesiest things
that I’d never imagine myself doing.
And I’m pretty sure of one more thing that I do.
When it’s four hours past midnight,
My fingers do latch onto yours, right?


Previous post : Labels of the human market.
Related post : Kiss me slow.

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Bare waists and midriffs.

I don’t know why every time his fingers trail my bare waist, I feel much more than just the shiver of intimacy run up my spine.

I try to wander the corridors of my mind to find out why he feels much more than just someone I make out with.

I cannot help but notice that it’s much more than just his hair that I grab onto now. I often envelop his hands so tightly with mine.

I wake up late into the nights and crave for his lips to be pressed against my neck, and I fall asleep with my hands wrapped around the pillow as if it were him.

I repeatedly catch myself thinking about him as I tie my hair back into the ponytail that he obsesses over.

Whenever he picks me up, and looks me in the eye, I don’t look at his lips while biting mine anymore. Instead, I kiss his nose and his chest, and feel his heart beating against my lips. I think of his smile as his kisses just grazes my midriff.

Why do I get all excited and tensed as he softly tucks my hair behind my ear?

I don’t know.


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Previous post : Palettes of life.
Related post : Kisses and cravings.

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