we take an inch
& my head spins for miles
the playful arm lock to keep me laying in bed
the running your fingertips up and down the curve of my hips
you want miles,
[at least i think you do]
but we only take an inch.
bite-size
miniature
itty-bitty pieces
so that the guilt is tolerable.
[at least for me]
but my head is running marathons
giant strides
with a steady endurance
to places that make me question every quip
every smart ass remark
every quick “night” without the grand gesture
every day that creeps by for me to check off to know if asking if you miss me is appropriate
my appetite is satiated with the inch
but my head never is.
earthtomars 