I don’t want her to ever stop reading these love-sick words exclusively for her. She undresses with each new thought dancing bare top and panties. Thinking, how in the fuck did yesterday turn into today. Face it, you’re the girl with the magical charms that keeps spinning this web. Oh, how she’s forgotten the power she yields, she hasn’t felt for years now. Perhaps this is why I keep a journal to keep her memory going so she won’t forget how it feels to be someone else’s idol. Teetering on lonely I pull her back then push her forward daring her to jump. She glances upward, so eyes are locked into eyes there’s nowhere for her to turn she has to answer why love ever mattered to her. What difference would it of made if she never touched the untouched source? She wouldn’t care to remember how love-sick feels, all doubled over hiding her favorite words, as if, I’m a stranger. Yet, she comes here to secretly snort every poem I’ve ever written. She needs me to get her daily fix of a string of thoughts. She promises herself this will be the last poem, until she gets the notice I’ve published again. I really then get stuck in her head until she’s all strung out on her bright screen reflecting how it feels, knowing, I’m the one in love with her.