your warmth
is like warm coffee,
in the dead of winter.
your kindness
like the soft
bed we sleep on;
comfortable.
your love?
something that'll
never be comparable,
just impeccable.
YOU ARE READING
i can talk here? crazy.
Poetryi've been trying to let go. only seems right to. we simply weren't meant to be, or are we?
a failure to compare
your warmth
is like warm coffee,
in the dead of winter.
your kindness
like the soft
bed we sleep on;
comfortable.
your love?
something that'll
never be comparable,
just impeccable.
