my skin still tingles whenever i think back to that night;
dancing fingers moving along with a rough flurry of emotional turmoil deeming us upsetupsetupsetupset even in our throes and wails but you sound like the man my mother warns me of, the kind that takes full advantage of unshed emotions.
even the walls echoed the passion of stolen kisses and touches that absolutely did not belong to us but who cares when you fit right in like we were meant to sin such treachery against her.
who cares that we could be such cheaters?
YOU ARE READING
wordlings
Poetryi like words. so i write them. now you have to read them. cover by -daisukii
