All of my senses closed up like briar roses as soon as I saw you see me. With bloodthirsty, perfectly manicured fingers, you offered up to me the hangover of your love. It would last into that pragmatic morning. It would
break the rest of my days up. You thought I had wanted easy when it came to love. I crave riddles in place of small talk. I crave healthy heartaches in place of speed dates. I've got it - come, and be my baby.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoesíaYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
