You are flowers in my mouth.
You are the smell of perfume on my undershirt,
crumpled soft in my hands.
I bury my face.
Every picture, I know, is everything to do with her and
it hurts
I can’t lie
Love is a stomach ache…a burned down house
where I live.
No comfortable spot on the couch.
You live in a raging forest
free
I watch you through a window,
cracked,
crying
8 hours ago
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3 comments:
the jereme likes this.
boing
(actually, I'm just saying that
i didn't even read your poem
i just know it's great)
i like this.
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