I want to feel
those rose-thorns in my hand,
digging into my flesh, skins peel.
Your skin is without blemish and
perfect till I come unto your soul
like Brendan searching for land
and instead finding your whole
bunch of letters, stacked slightly
on a table supported by wellwishing.
I find myself imagining you tightly
wrapped around my finger, never fishing
for compliments but for true love.
Lover, let me love you as I have been
whether this will work has not been seen.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 9:09 PM UTC
I want to feel
those rose-thorns in my hand,
digging into my flesh, skins peel.
Your skin is without blemish and
perfect till I come unto your soul
like Brendan searching for land
and instead finding your whole
bunch of letters, stacked slightly
on a table supported by wellwishing.
I find myself imagining you tightly
wrapped around my finger, never fishing
for compliments but for true love.
Lover, let me love you as I have been
whether this will work has not been seen.
