I don't know what to say other than the past versions of my self never haunted me as much as the feeling of your legs on top of mine the breath from your mouth on my chest
I sit angry with being so attached to you
But unwilling to unattach my self to that idyllic
Bliss our hearts once new
How you could have ever caused me such pain is uncertain but like an addiction I welcome it all again with the reception of ten million outstretched arms praying to embrace not anything but you.
YOU ARE READING
The Penultimate Pleasures
PoetryA collection of poems meant to embody the ongoing struggle of souls seeking shelter in modernity. (Let me know what you think:)
