Senses

How many senses does it take To prove to myself you’re real How do I know the illusion won’t break Or the devil be part of the deal I reach out my hand to feel My fingers trail over skin Brushing the hoodie you love to steal The veil between us is thin The smell of sweet breath Holding me back from the brink I dare not mention Macbeth Afraid the moment to jinx Eyes lock for a magical second Green meeting hazel-brown Even when there is a problem to be reckoned Your visage wards off a frown You’re voice sweet and strong Carried softly on still air Claiming you are never wrong And comparing life to a fair One sense remains But unspoken it shall stay However, lipstick stains Give the secret away