Some nights I was able to substitute your warmth for the warmth of another, as long as I didn't look at him. I've conditioned myself to believe in sex; both pure and animal, with no concept of love because my heart is still yours. But I need that warmth, I need you to return to my bed. I need you to love me once more unless you plan on leaving my head. Most nights, I just can't deal with you not being here next to me. But in due time... you will have no trouble understanding poetry when i slide my tongue between your lips. I remember you would finger fuck me with your writing.. I wonder if the pages ever smelt me on you. This is poetry.