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In the night she comes,
Bringing me a humbling comfort,
The type that comes when being held while vulnerable.
The moon lights her face,
I see the way her cheeks are dusted red,
As though they were still stained by the suns warmth.
The feel of her hand against my cheek,
With such gentle softness,
Gliding against my skin as though she were made of silk.
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YOU ARE READING
~ HUMAN INTROSPECTION ~
Poetry~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ A collection of poetry and philosophical questions made to question the relations and views we have of ourselves and others. I encourage readers to explore themselves and allow their thoughts to run unfiltered while reading. I hope...
