Sometimes it can be hard to know her skin
the way she likes to hide
and never let somebody in.
But even so she's like roses,
and their fallen petals
floating in the wind.
Caught in the zephyr,
my hands stretched to their limit;
and even with the tightest grip,
they still slip through my fingers.
Interlaced the same stem,
Woman to woman
That old teenage wet dream.
Red lipstick smeared across our face,
Her laughter in my mouth,
and God I love the way it tastes.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
Sometimes it can be hard to know her skin
the way she likes to hide
and never let somebody in.
But even so she's like roses,
and their fallen petals
floating in the wind.
Caught in the zephyr,
my hands stretched to their limit;
and even with the tightest grip,
they still slip through my fingers.
Interlaced the same stem,
Woman to woman
That old teenage wet dream.
Red lipstick smeared across our face,
Her laughter in my mouth,
and God I love the way it tastes.
