Find my way home

Wait for the man
who gets to see you
sprawled on the floor
in front of a fire,
hair like a birds nest
and a pen in your hand.
The man
who steps in to see
this real life

work of art

He can do nothing
but stand at the door
and stare at you
just a little bit more.
He wants to surprise you,
hands over your face
before you notice him,
but he cannot take his eyes off you,
the flames from the fireplace
behind you,
and you look like you’re glowing
at every edge,
right down to the stray
strands of hair on your head.

He has the privilege
of having his queen on his arm
when you are dressed up and made up
and beautiful,
all heels and glam.
When all eyes are on this woman
holding on tight to this man.
But nothing compares
to knowing that all of you
is his,
only he has the privilege
to see you like this;
stripped of your mask
that you show to the world,
fresh faced and comfortable,
shit jokes and laughing.
This is only for him,
and right now
he feels like a king.

But a mistake,
a movement
and you’ll turn around to see him,
a distance in his stare,
too mesmerised to smile.
A bite of the lip
and you can read his mind,
his own entire universe
is laying on the  floor
right before his eyes


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