45 minutes held you close to myself,
I gaze into your eyes,
Wrapped in fear this won't be mine in sometime.
Once every month I hardly even feel at home
So I let go off your hand,
Drift apart from my peace
You're home and I'm crying in your wounds.
YOU ARE READING
Lust of love
PoetrySometimes when we kiss we don't differentiate lust and love. Sometimes it's lust, sometimes kiss is affection. Sometimes both. What really is lust of love?
