I search
for the words
I
wrote on my hips;
but
not another word,
left my frozen lips.
There is no way to
springtime,
the winter,
takes her tole.
I bury myself away,
in this 3 pillow,
double bedded hole.
Darling, but I keep myself sane.
I dream of flowers in my hair & the warmth in your name.
Early July conversations,
tapping strings, how we'd softly sing
& were guided to one another's lips
at the very touch of our finger tips.
I always thought I was better than this,
but
Love,
Your heart is one I often miss.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
I search
for the words
I
wrote on my hips;
but
not another word,
left my frozen lips.
There is no way to
springtime,
the winter,
takes her tole.
I bury myself away,
in this 3 pillow,
double bedded hole.
Darling, but I keep myself sane.
I dream of flowers in my hair & the warmth in your name.
Early July conversations,
tapping strings, how we'd softly sing
& were guided to one another's lips
at the very touch of our finger tips.
I always thought I was better than this,
but
Love,
Your heart is one I often miss.
I think about you everyday, I just dont know what to say.
And I cant let you see,
this terrible side of me
when I can only talk through poetry.
But I put myself through it.
Through tragedy comes creativity,
so I thought I 'd let my feelings flow about an old 'Cat Gentlefolk I used to know.
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