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[16 Oct 2009|01:35am] |
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If only I were a hundred degree weather
and the thought of me made you sweat
If only you were the water in my teapot
and I the flame beneath you
I could heat you up, make you boil
and feel your warmth slide down my throat
If only I lived in your heart
pumped like blood to your limbs
meeting an unequivocable need for motion
And if only when the moon is up
you would rest on me as a pillow
I will comfort you and retain your indention in the morning.
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