The Great Grateful Poem by Brittaney Static

There's something kind of funny about how I can touch your skin, your back, your hair so many times, but your face is somewhat fuzzy. I can never look you in the eye because I like to pretend that maybe you're looking at me more lovingly than you would when you're ravenous.
For an hour or so I can feel you and I can forget the reality of this situation. If I play my cards right, maybe I can hold onto you a bit longer.
Until it's out the door.
Until then it's whispering but not really listening.
After that its just until you need my vulnerability.
How many times do I have to throw myself at you to see through what lies beneath my clothes?
I'm expecting a bit too much from you.
I'll throw myself down this gap again. Every time I do, a little bit of me disappears.