Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2012
Your hands grow moist as we start to slip,
Oh how I remember the days we were attached by the hip.
To feel your breath like a warm summers breeze,
Our hearts were like a puzzle that was finished with ease.
Every bit of you matched up with me,
When together, we finally felt free.

Something happened that shook the puzzle loose,
Suddenly I began to imagine tying a noose.
Our pieces were once so tightly attached,
It appears that we need some form of patch.
Our pieces clash without any excuse,
You are like a bomb with a short fuse.

Now we search halfheartedly in order to be complete,
But to search and learn what we lost would be an extraordinary feat.
We both hope to be completed together,
But we've yet to grasp we may be lost forever.
MST
Written by
MST  Leipzig
(Leipzig)   
867
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems