I like the way your mouth moves when you lie to me:
Mocking the shapes of truth.
Your tongue’s best quality
Was how it could seduce
Me, and tamper with my innards
Like a lion playing with his food.
I like the way you hold my hand although I know you can’t feel your fingertips-
But claw at my flesh and break skin
And somehow you don’t feel the blood
Pooling underneath your nails.
I like the way you love me though
Because when it’s good it’s blinding
So even when it’s bad
it’s not bad it’s never bad enough
For me to leave.
Because I can feel my fingertips
I can’t fathom or feel
That could be your false love.