Infatuation

Absorption

There was, a certain art to it
The flick of your tongue, lips mouthing words
As you sentenced her to love

One cruel curl of a smirk
A dot of the I, on the notes
That she kept close by

The perfectly measured beat
Of her heart against your breath
While she held hers

Waiting for the whole world to turn.

There was a certain skill, in it all
Giving just enough – yet taking
Taking her life for your own