Qualified

You're slipping through my eyes-
I'm a heartbroken fool full of loving you.
I could have you
You have me already
amber-grey soft
black, red, and smiling faintly
You refuse what is happening
You can't. You just can't
the grip is sliding down a laugh
You kill me with with those pupils
the way you pull your hair over your face
as if you want to chew but decide against it
instead-its an improvisational mustache
You're boyfriend once said something like that,
I didn't mean to
but I wouldn't mind the job