ruined voices.
fading photographs.
exposed.
let's hold hands.
discard our clothes.
even if it doesn't mean
anything.
Will you write me poetry?
Will you pick me flowers?
Will you kiss me
when my hair is greasy,
I haven't showered in days,
and my eyes are bloodshot
from a lack of sleep
and too much coffee?
Then,
it might be love.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:12 AM UTC
ruined voices.
fading photographs.
exposed.
let's hold hands.
discard our clothes.
even if it doesn't mean
anything.
Will you write me poetry?
Will you pick me flowers?
Will you kiss me
when my hair is greasy,
I haven't showered in days,
and my eyes are bloodshot
from a lack of sleep
and too much coffee?
Then,
it might be love.