I would be happy to be your
Whirling-Whispering-Wind.
To kiss your brow and wave your hair
In my direction.
Yet, you've had your hair cut so low,
A wave wouldn't be sensible to you.
You've Jerry-curled it, stiff and patterned to your style
And all I wish each day is,
To be a Tornado around you.
So you could feel my efforts.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Letters
ПоэзияWe are Afraid. The supposed Ones with bravery of hearts are weakened because of affection. Now we lay low on succulent beds and Undercovers. These are my honest Dead Letters.
