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it's forty seven minutes past 5pm, my dark cinnamon hair falls over my brown sugar freckles. i sigh under the golden hue of the apricot sunset, i'm too tired to breath or move but a smile decorates over my rosea cotton candy smudged mouth. venus wouldn't believe me if i confessed i drown my kidneys in warm honey to forget about your lie for a minute and a quarter. i sway my hips [perfect for you to grasp] to "cerasus vinum" with ripped off earplugs dangling down my collarbone. if i could close the distance between our stars, there are lavender sprigs sprouting from my larynx and a sheet of frost over your ribcage, i'd kiss your cheeks roeastè with my cherry flavoured lips.
