In those eyes of yours
I no longer
see a mirror of myself
but
a reflection of flawless, pretentious dolls
--infinite options
:(
YOU ARE READING
Are Loving: Present Progressive
PoetryWith her fingertips, she traced the smooth, darkened skin under his eyes. "Eyebags," she noted. "I've been thinking," he murmured, "of you. The shadow of my thoughts is the ink which stains them." She paused and gazed right into those distant...
