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Dec 2020
Isn't it a pity that,
what she and I have
might be a
foretold; untold tale?

This writhing soul might be a fool to be

- t a n t a l i z e d -

byΒ her honey-like scent,
with the topical rose redolence;
percolating every existing room for air
in my thickly tar-scarred lungs
from every hush of her troubled breath---

only then to realise that

every passing seconds spent

have always been a constellation of

== inane innuendo ==

to pique the lovelorn in me.
There's always something in me that's been worried of her troubled breathing. She doesn't smoke, so I'm concerned. I mean, her lungs aren't tar-scarred like mine.
P.S: I like the smell of her perfume.
Shannon Soeganda
Written by
Shannon Soeganda  25/Gender Nonconforming/Jakarta
(25/Gender Nonconforming/Jakarta)   
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