I first kissed her when the moon was red,
her lips tasted of vintage 1997 Ornellaia,
Which burned my throat traveling down,
I closed my eyes to let the sweetness savor
And when she pressed me to her heart
The stars hit the ends of my nerves
She took out guitar stings to light each strand
Then smoked amethyst clouds into the blue
night sky. When she spoke, each syllable was
cold and I kissed her again to taste the
Warm red wine.
In the morning her kiss became a sin.
She tasted like suitcases and train tickets.
I had to close my eyes to not watch her go
And when I opened them she had already gone.
2am is so unkind
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I first kissed her when the moon was red,
her lips tasted of vintage 1997 Ornellaia,
Which burned my throat traveling down,
I closed my eyes to let the sweetness savor
And when she pressed me to her heart
The stars hit the ends of my nerves
She took out guitar stings to light each strand
Then smoked amethyst clouds into the blue
night sky. When she spoke, each syllable was
cold and I kissed her again to taste the
Warm red wine.
In the morning her kiss became a sin.
She tasted like suitcases and train tickets.
I had to close my eyes to not watch her go
And when I opened them she had already gone.
2am is so unkind
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