touch me with your words, not your hands

you ripped me apart to quench your thirst,

i mistook your lust for passion and love.

you liked watching me wither;

you sink your teeth into my skin,

drunk on a sliver of passion,

a moment to pass,

all for me to leave vacant.

you told me everything i wanted to hear,

everything i wanted to know,

not about you,

about myself,

how you see me.

but you reached for my pants.

telling me you're drunk doesn't soften the blow

if this shell of a body wasn’t in the way,

imagine how much more raw i could know you,

right to the bare soul of your being.

good things take time,

and passion,

and sacrifices.

if we were merely our souls,

would you care to know me still?

would you still tell me the words you know i want to hear,

if it means you wouldn't get anything in return?