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

A phantom

That could be your false love. 

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