Were you here last night?
I felt your slender fingers trailing down my bare skin,
Tracing every subtle curve of my gentle body,
Imprinting the dim moonlight on my mushy back,
Writing magnificent poems with your chapped lips,
Ravishing the tanned skin of my arched neck,
Running your calloused thumb over my luscious lips,
Holding my face with your withered palms,
Gently touching my indelible scar,
Trying to steal every bit of my impure soul,
With crystal eyes as black as kohl itself,
Softly whispering magical words to me,
And as I tried to possess your faint touch,
You blurred away with the whistling winds,
Were you actually here last night?
Or did I just conjure that you rose from the dead?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryIf you're the one who's tired of trying, If you're the one who's had it enough, You might like my work
