Senses
How many senses does it take
To prove to myself you’re real
How do I know the illusion won’t break
Or the devil be part of the deal
I reach out my hand to feel
My fingers trail over skin
Brushing the hoodie you love to steal
The veil between us is thin
The smell of sweet breath
Holding me back from the brink
I dare not mention Macbeth
Afraid the moment to jinx
Eyes lock for a magical second
Green meeting hazel-brown
Even when there is a problem to be reckoned
Your visage wards off a frown
You’re voice sweet and strong
Carried softly on still air
Claiming you are never wrong
And comparing life to a fair
One sense remains
But unspoken it shall stay
However, lipstick stains
Give the secret away
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