DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, hanging on these little things life grants us is the reason of our survival;]
in his feels
I know I see
the drowned drips of the feet
smiles of the fakes he sweeps
lick the lips and motion the blondes to touch
hearts to brush
always as also so little as much
thinking when he means of the ones and the twos
the whispers and the apples to smell to near
hairs so dark for the safe to fear
maybe then the want would not haste
or not for the come to paste
invisible to the seen to the face
on the yellows they still remain
or blue flowers on the neck I wish the belongs come to make
-------ravenfeels