Only Between the Sheets

Happy Tuesday folks. It's raining here in Brooklyn. Here's a little something I free-styled last night.

Only Between the Sheets

The closeness that was always there has disappeared and makes me wonder how the fuck we got here. I’m overwhelmed with confusion, questioning how what felt so real can seem like an illusion from where I’m standing now.

When we first met, it was like something out of a movie, the way you looked at me and the way I could make you laugh felt like we were living out the best romantic comedy ever written. I fell in love with your smile and everything I saw in your eyes way before you even let me touch your kitten. You always said that what we had felt like it was written and fated to be. I remember late night conversations over bowls of rum & raisin ice cream in the kitchen. Now we just smoke and drink together but the deep, dope conversations are missing. We both continue to play our roles, maintain the routine but honestly, it has started to feel like acting when we’re kissing.

We don’t feel close when we walk past each other every day like ghosts, translucent shades of what we used to be and I wonder if you miss me, even though I’m standing right here. I know it might surprise you that I still care because you don’t believe that I see you, even though you’re standing right there. We won’t say goodbye because we’re stubborn but also, deep down, somewhere, we both don’t want to be anywhere but right here, even as cold as it has become. We just don’t know how to fix things to make it like it used to be between us.

The only place we don’t feel far apart is between the sheets of the bed we still share. The way I still get up for you, over and over again shows that I still care, even if my heart of full of fear. I don’t want to lose you and no matter what, I’ll always choose you. You’ve got a special kind of voodoo and even though we hardly speak, I’m still in love with everything that you do. Nowadays, when I’m deep inside you is the only time you say my name. The way you moan it makes me believe that you miss the sound of it on your lips. Only when we make love, all the times we fuck, are the times we get back a small part of the things we lost but I worry about the cost. We’re lovers, not friends and I’m not sure if we can get back to being good again.

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