I miss him,
Maybe a little maybe a lot
When the sun shoots its rays against my skin
The softness of your fingertips runs wedges over my hips
I hear you call me and the green overlooking our vision's horizon
Memories that float over the weather’s waves
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
I miss him,
Maybe a little maybe a lot
When the sun shoots its rays against my skin
The softness of your fingertips runs wedges over my hips
I hear you call me and the green overlooking our vision's horizon
Memories that float over the weather’s waves