I like the chip on your shoulder
I like the howl in your voice
Just the right imperfections.
Your opinions carry a little more weight
You’re dropping your vowels and I’m taking the bait
I can almost feel your teeth
on my shoulder blades
It’s my velvet you’re snagging
My focus you’re dragging
What I’m saying is you’re resonating
That ever-present almost touch,
little
– aching –
space
Between our fingers
Someone should paint us on the ceiling
Revel in this glorious agony we’ve created
Let’s make the tourists pay.
By: Allison Gems
Allison Gems 