I mull the idea over,

all chances.

I'd run my nails against your cheek,

pretend to not know your name.

misplace my keys somewhere at your place,

stay longer.

and you'd pace.

Some things are never. . .

to walk away.

I'd turn to you,

and that smile always says:

"I'd frame that face of yours,

hang it on my wall today."

I'd hang you somewhere.

let it be.