feelin' fat AND sappy.
5 replies, 8658 views
his eyes glanced up and trailed back down, almost like he was sweeping my body with those lashes, which have a batting average you wouldn't believe. and i stood there and let him look, because maybe if he bats those lashes long enough i'll start to feel something. feel lustful, feel lucky, feel something at all.
come back to today.
he has this heartshaped mouth with bite marks, cracks, imperfections and whatever else it has that reminds me that he's human. it twists to a certain side a little before it breaks out into a smile, before i'm shown why i'm alive.
go back to yesterday.
cupid doesn't shoot arrows, as we'd all come to believe. but he doesn't stand by helpless, either. i've a sneaking suspicion i was hit by a properly pitched four seam fastball.
come back to me.
you're not stealing home, i'm offering it to you. so while you stand there on your mound, just think about who's been at every damn game this season, just think about who made your statistics what they are today, just think about the fact that i am unforgivably, irrevocably in love.
yeah. with you.
i thought the common baseball thread throughout was cool.
mm. Who knew you could use Baseball as a metaphor for love?
I absolutely fucking hate baseball.
except for post-season. everything gets interesting in the playoffs.
either way, that didnt stop me from loving this poem.
very VERY well written.
the descriptions you use are well thought out, and well used.
the batting average line. priceless.
a bit cliche with the stealing home part, but I really enjoyed this to the max.
well my eye lashes aren't really that long and plus i don't even have to try and steal home because home plate is pretty much offered.
and bouncing soul, you're just a hopeless fucking romantic.
it's cool. i'm hopeless.