āHe didnāt buy flowers. But one night he just picked up the hair brush off the bed and started brushing my hair. We hardly ever went out for dinner. But he sat on the cold tiles next to the bath, feeding me toasted cheese. My wet hands, wrinkling at the finger tips in the water. I spend two hours with my make up. He says: āOh is base that stuff that makes you look a bit pale sometimes?ā But in the morning, heād keep his face in my pussy. Heād go deaf when I tell him: I think I just canāt come today. He wasnāt impressed at my tight blue dress. But he held my face to the sky, as he filled my mind with thoughts. He pulled my hands from my ears, as he whispered to me in the dark his secrets about myself He didnāt complete me. Quite the opposite. Iām terrified as he rips apart the puzzle. Heās got a mirror to my face, and a flash light shining in my eyes. Iām interrogated by his love. Somedays I feel like a dream house. You buy it, only to renovate every room. The smell of wet paint clogging in my lungs. Iām horrified by your love, your need to read and reread every page of me. But you hold me right through the night. You keep wanting to see me Naked. The answers that satisfy other people donāt satisfy you. You capture my imagination, as you bend me over the kitchen counter. You donāt buy flowers. Were never interested in poetry, But youāve started reading it with me.ā
ā Theresa Taylor (via nevertherestillhere)
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