"I'm obsessed with the idea of waking up in your arms;
What assurance,
Do we have,
That each time we fall asleep,
We'd still wake up?
Every night could be our last,
And when I wake up,
With the warmth of your breath,
Gently brushing my neck,
What a feeling it would be knowing,
That the night before could have been our last,
Yet we chose to spend it,
Wrapped up in each other's arms."
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 5:43 AM UTC
"I'm obsessed with the idea of waking up in your arms;
What assurance,
Do we have,
That each time we fall asleep,
We'd still wake up?
Every night could be our last,
And when I wake up,
With the warmth of your breath,
Gently brushing my neck,
What a feeling it would be knowing,
That the night before could have been our last,
Yet we chose to spend it,
Wrapped up in each other's arms."
Request permission to use this poem