You Said I Was the One

Your scent is trapped in my brain cells. My skin, burnt by Your fingertips, is itching. The echo of Your low hollow voice is uproaring in my eardrums. Your light, jovial and full of life eyes are dancing in mines'. Your burning smile would not leave my bleeding piece of meat, lost between my ribs on the left. The reflections of Your soul are clutching the core of mine.

Still.

I cannot feel Your lips.