*when i sit and write
complex words
on simple paper
i can only think
of your sleepy eyes
or the rosy pink
of your naked thighs
truth is
that is not poetry
only memories
of the girl that left me*
*when i sit and write
complex words
on simple paper
i can only think
of your sleepy eyes
or the rosy pink
of your naked thighs
truth is
that is not poetry
only memories
of the girl that left me*
