Whilst I lay in the dark,
Wind whistles against
Rickety
Windowpanes.
I used to sneak out then in those.
With your aftertaste on my lips
And fingers still trembling-
Closing the latch,
And climbing into
Empty sheets.
You were:
First kiss,
Not first touch.
You were:
Freshly picked roses,
And numb hands.
You were:
Everything good
On paper.
Only that.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC