Just Another Hopeless Romantic

The small amount of skin
That hangs from the
underside of your arm
Is cold

And smooth as silk.
As I run my fingers along it
You wake and tell me
Not to be such a romantic fool;
That I wear love so
Heavy in my heart
And it really is rather

Before rolling over and
drifting off again
With the most silent of sighs,
And the smallest of smiles
Still hanging from your lips.


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