The feeling I get
Whenever I see the flow of frilly fabric,
Or the curves of pears and hourglasses,
Or the lines extruding from a pair of eyes,
Or the pleasant discolorations of a face,
Or the simplicity of a dress,
Or the faint upwards timbre of a husky voice,
Or the close folding and fusion of two forms,
Or the embrace of colors that exist only for you;
I drink that feeling,
And I swallow it every night in the hopes
That it can become me
And I can become what it wants me to be.