I swear
I could've drawn
Angles on your cheeks—
Tracing your freckles
With the tips of my fingers.
You'd laugh
And start to cry.
From the warmth
In our touch, I suppose.
You'd try
To brush my hand away.
But I know you're sensitive
To the spark in our love.
It's too late though
When I realize what I've sone.
Now only Angels fly away
From the demons on your face.
My hands are cursed.
I swear, I didn't know.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
I swear
I could've drawn
Angles on your cheeks—
Tracing your freckles
With the tips of my fingers.
You'd laugh
And start to cry.
From the warmth
In our touch, I suppose.
You'd try
To brush my hand away.
But I know you're sensitive
To the spark in our love.
It's too late though
When I realize what I've sone.
Now only Angels fly away
From the demons on your face.
My hands are cursed.
I swear, I didn't know.
