Jazz

Right up here, feel what I'm pointing to.
Right up here, come close inside.
Forced to believe that you're not listening.
Silent again as you push against the handle.
A desire pokes through the warmness in our skin.

Forced to believe you won't answer me.
At least that's how it is.
And I wish you could feel just how you make me feel.
Rather than put it back together, we can sit and watch it crumble. That's not the answer I was looking for.
That's not the answer I want.