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.