Too many times I was the source of realization.
I was the careless lust while the real love waited
My skin is French vanilla
You like the way it tastes on your tongue
But her skin is a field of lavender and lilac
All of your butterflies fly toward her
the second her flesh molds over your lips
You keep telling me I have you
But I know where your eyes go
when she walks passed you
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Too many times I was the source of realization.
I was the careless lust while the real love waited
My skin is French vanilla
You like the way it tastes on your tongue
But her skin is a field of lavender and lilac
All of your butterflies fly toward her
the second her flesh molds over your lips
You keep telling me I have you
But I know where your eyes go
when she walks passed you
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