A six-string in my embrace, my crown on your lap caught in a daze
Our fingers interlaced and gentle caresses were exchanged
You said the callouses on my skin from strumming the guitar too often was a sign that whatever I do; I do it wholeheartedly
The corner of your lips curled into a smile and I started to agree
Lyrics and rhythm to a new song suddenly poured superfluously like the rain falling during a monsoon
Alas, what a waste of a perfectly-composed tne when you changed like the four seasons but I was forever stuck in summer at noon
YOU ARE READING
Tulis or Write?
PoetryOf love, hate, happiness and sadness. Sometimes, a broken heart is the best thing that could happen to a writer. A process of healing by writing amateur poems and short stories.
