The touch of your hand
Makes my heart stand
The piercing of your eyes
Screams ***
Passion cries.
The smell of your words
Was the last scent
I heard
A lover of your kind
Should pay my prudence
Little mind
I’ll bathe in your dirt
As you enjoy
My clean rinse
Together we
Shall awaken
Our sixth sense !
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
The touch of your hand
Makes my heart stand
The piercing of your eyes
Screams ***
Passion cries.
The smell of your words
Was the last scent
I heard
A lover of your kind
Should pay my prudence
Little mind
I’ll bathe in your dirt
As you enjoy
My clean rinse
Together we
Shall awaken
Our sixth sense !