Springhollow.
Something broken, something borrowed.
Friction fighting flesh
Against my white stained pillow.
Middlesex.
Promising perfection in excess.
Cutting palms with lovely letters.
He was seven. I was six.
Nottingham.
Proclaiming to know the promised land.
Wrecking ball through golden temples.
Romantic fixations. Romantically ******
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
Springhollow.
Something broken, something borrowed.
Friction fighting flesh
Against my white stained pillow.
Middlesex.
Promising perfection in excess.
Cutting palms with lovely letters.
He was seven. I was six.
Nottingham.
Proclaiming to know the promised land.
Wrecking ball through golden temples.
Romantic fixations. Romantically ******
