We’re waiting on cold kisses,
cooled off after hours of no talk, no touch,
no more words to say.
Your lips go cold and mine do too.
It’s cold, and I’m waiting for the heat.
I’m waiting on the red blink on the phone
that begs me to answer,
and so I do
so you don’t have time to regret it.
I’m here for you.
I’m waiting for the same words to come back to me
because the tides always draw the waves to the shore.
I sit in my boat, a paddle in my hands,
a wide horizon before me,
beautiful as the stars that freckle the darkest part of the sunset sky
like hair on an old man’s head.
And the water teases the shore.
It sometimes licks my boat,
but it never picks me up; it never holds me.
And I’m waiting