Contagious laughter, obnoxious wit-
That devilish grin I've come to love.
Satanic stare: deep yet unfit,
The light within: a soaring dove.
Those cold, cold hands- I'm reluctant to touch,
Despite the lustful temptation.
Nevertheless, they're in my clutch,
Serving as my salvation.
Lips salivate, pupils dilate,
Steam rises from our skin.
This sinful act, rebelling fate,
We both guiltily indulge in.
Though in this moment, it becomes apparent,
That, to him, I am merely transparent.
YOU ARE READING
A Procrastinator's Poetry
PoetryI tend to procrastinate. A lot. Instead of doing homework, revision and things that are considered useful to others my age, I sit and contemplate things. Things that I usually express via the profound art of poetry. Most of the poems I publish are n...
