His cold hand gripped my thigh,
And in the moment I wished it was your hand touching me.
Your hands were always warm and soft,
While his are cold and callused.
I shuddered at the thought of someone else touching me the way you used to.
~A.b
YOU ARE READING
Words to myself from myself.
PoetryThese are poems that's I wrote, and I did it for me. I don't expect people to really read any of these, I just needed to say the things in my head.
