your mind wanders to the man;
the man who kissed you,
who slid up your dress,
who whispered three words.
the wind was with you two;
you fluttered where it went.
nothing existed except his hands,
and he made your head pound.
but he wasn't good enough for you,
or maybe you weren't good enough for him.
whatever the reason for your unsteady breaths,
he's the last thing you think of before you breathe your last.
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poetryi won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
