The comfort of cliche, the trampled path
of mixed tapes and photo booths
some semblance of a direction as we walk
in our own uncharted territory called love.
the grass is wild and uncut, and with woods we
can call Narnia. The wild orange flowers, strawberries,
and gooseberries don't smell as fragrant as your hair
or taste as sweet as your ears.
you whisper "oh my god" but you don't believe.
how can you not see the angel when you see your reflection in my eyes?
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
The comfort of cliche, the trampled path
of mixed tapes and photo booths
some semblance of a direction as we walk
in our own uncharted territory called love.
the grass is wild and uncut, and with woods we
can call Narnia. The wild orange flowers, strawberries,
and gooseberries don't smell as fragrant as your hair
or taste as sweet as your ears.
you whisper "oh my god" but you don't believe.
how can you not see the angel when you see your reflection in my eyes?