Open eyes

My eyes’ve gotta be open when I kiss you – see?

It’s a bad habit,

the biting of fingernails of sexy times.

Don’t like being watched?

Figures.

Not watching. Showing.

Thought you’d understand.

Eyes are windows right? Transparent and fragile, fragile to a fault.

Can’t poke ‘em.

Fractures occur,

Cracks that dribble all the way down your cheek.

I paint my love on your face with fingers that shake and feel every prickle of your beard as they trace,

Down.

Voices are loud in my head.

I'm not crazy.

Not crazy voices, just ones that tell you he’s not perfect, but neither are you, or over think things.

Often.

Sometimes banging music quietens the cacophony, sometimes it doesn't.

In bed, in once clean sheets, 

It’s cold.

My arm hairs stand to attention and the electricity runs up my spine

And hot,

The sweat droplets on your back coat my fingers.

Arms get in the way of holding you so tight.

This is making love.

Can't voice the look so I just hope you see it.

I hope I see in your eyes what I see,

Not just my eyes reflected back at me.