I dug up forty five holes
With the countenance
Of a widow in mourning.
I planted you in the dirt
With the continence
Of a monk praying.
My sinful soul
Is fertile soil.
I've planted forty five dreams
In this piece called "heart"
I've been watering it with tears and hopes
And still
Forty five touches
Won't bring you here in my life.
I have forty five dreams where I kiss your skin
And there are forty five light million
years
Between your eyes
And mine and my smile.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
I dug up forty five holes
With the countenance
Of a widow in mourning.
I planted you in the dirt
With the continence
Of a monk praying.
My sinful soul
Is fertile soil.
I've planted forty five dreams
In this piece called "heart"
I've been watering it with tears and hopes
And still
Forty five touches
Won't bring you here in my life.
I have forty five dreams where I kiss your skin
And there are forty five light million
years
Between your eyes
And mine and my smile.
In colab with @aeerdna
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