Come and sit
Sit at my feet and fit your head on my lap
The death of my will compares not to the theft of my heart for it was aware of your mischievous intentions
Let the touch of your skin be the spark that ignites the fire in my bones
Blow the horns
Let me be withdrawn to you,to your sweet perfume,
For I delight in your perfume.
YOU ARE READING
Roses of Sharon
PuisiHow should one begin to introduce such a collection of riddled poems? Well,read following thoughts "painted in words" are cries, ideologies that demanded to be shared. Each unique in it's own way. Some a tainted with sorrows and wonders,some...
