it's that sort of look
that's tinged with awe
an adoration with every slow blink,
profound, but nice.
not an awkward silence,
but one that pulls
at the sides of your mouth.
sort of warming the affection,
making the throb in my heart more noticeable.
a tightened grip, your hand in mine
a reminding sense of safety
i can still feel them, your fingers clenched
letting the heat rub off onto my cold hands,
and i wish that you never had to let go.
it's that sort of feel
that everyone tries to word
a personal tribute to love.
and it never comes out just right
somethings are supposed to be understood
and some nights i can read you like a book.