Summer time.
So short,
But that's when my lips met your skin,
When you lips met my hips.
When my hands yearned to touch you,
To hold you together when no one else desired to.
You were my clarity in a room of darkness,
I enabled you to be my weakness.
And boy,
I was weak.
The ground you walked upon was my bible,
And I read the silliness of your skin like the pages I left unturned.
So tell me,
If after this short July,
You'll remember how I built your body from the ruins left.
How I repaired the soul that had burned in a pit of fire for some time now.
YOU ARE READING
Woman.
PoetryA book of poems and feelings. A book from a girl, a rose from the concrete. A Woman growing.
