our story started in carving our names on dusty windows,
and writing poetries on old tissues.
stolen glances
behind the yellow curtains
and in crowded places;
calling each other with our second names,
and hiding feelings.
YOU ARE READING
once upon a poetry
Poetryjust some stupid poetry and prose i wrote during late nights and rainy afternoons
the feelings bloomed on spring
our story started in carving our names on dusty windows,
and writing poetries on old tissues.
stolen glances
behind the yellow curtains
and in crowded places;
calling each other with our second names,
and hiding feelings.