she was a mess of
broken glass and cheap perfume
and she loved the smell
of campfires and pine trees
so when she caught a whiff
of his cologne
and saw that he was a mess of
cold skin and chapped lips
she knew that it would be love
YOU ARE READING
quarter to dawn {poetry}
Poesiaa collection of poems. you ask me why i like art and i tell you that the water colours bleed prettier than my wrists
