They come in waves.
Kamikaze planes or
lovely flowers and sweet lullabies.
Blood boils,
slapping against my skin,
Sometimes.
My love is seasonal,
It won't stay.
Don't expect anything from me.
You will be bitterly disappointed.
YOU ARE READING
a collection
Poetrythis is just a place to save my writing, actually. i don't particularly care if it's ever read.
