A finger wipes the red droplets from my flustered cheeks and kissed my torn forehead as a hand rested on my broken shoulder.
The branches, the Earth, and the leaves.
They all leave me.
YOU ARE READING
HIM
Poetry[Highest: #994 in poetry lol] He's exotic and eccentric. The way he speaks, the way he moves: so gracefully but also so carelessly. As is the way his spirit is childish and interesting but aged and mundane. He's a mystery I'm starting to get hooked...
