By: Katherine Avila
I love how your meaty hands swallows mine,
as mine grew older, yours grew more colder.
I love how your cologne drowns the stench of beer and wine,
“I’m gonna change,” you told her,
I love how you love to lie.
I can’t get enough of this choking hold, I
’m obsessed with making your eyes smile.
But in the end, I just cry.
“Don’t cry!” you scold.
Once again, I want to hold your hand-just for a little while;