There is a scuff on my shoe
And my mother told me to throw them out
But the scuff mark on my shoe reminds me of those nights. 2 am. Laughter bubbling like champagne, warm and fragile inside and over and out. Higher than I've ever been. Sky scrapers. Empire State. On the roof. Wearing blankets as sweaters. Best friends. Howling at the stars. Crying with the moon. Arms dangled around one another. Never wanting to let go. Never wanting the magic to end. Brimming with. Mouths wide open. Heads thrown back in ecstasy. Eyes clear. Minds free. Hugging so tightly. Tripping over one another. Stumble. Scrape. The shoes forever entangled with those memories. With 2am. With laughter on the lips and love coursing through our veins.
YOU ARE READING
Endlessly Falling
PoetryI have a slight problem. It is banal. Inconsiderable. Inconsequential. Insipid, vain, and trivial. Some might even some vapid or nugatory. So frivolous. But, to me it is kind of a biggie. Here's the deal. I have a problem with falling in love... re...
