They will never know.
Of the sweet taste of your lips.
The gentle touch of your hands.
They will never know how good it feels to hold you from behind.
Or how beautiful it looks when you smile.
They will never know it was you.
Whispering sweet nothings softly to my inner thighs.
They will never know how fast your heart beats even though you look calm.
They will never know that you like cheek kisses.
Or how you take your time with your cigarettes.
They will never see your beautiful freckles.
And the precious gems in your eyes.
They will never know I met him and let him touch me.
They will never know of your loud, unmissable laughter.
Or how soft your hair is.
Oh. It breaks my heart, Biscuit.
That they will never know it was I who held you.
Who felt you.
Who missed you.
Who thought that mustard yellow was a good look on you.
One day I’ll leave a sunflower on your desk.
And they don’t have to know.
Because I know, and that’s enough.