Lover, it’s tiring in the endangerment of dreams, like the
silhouette, flashing alluring across. Experience in love,
is a life worth sacrificing for. And you’re too late, you’re
burnt in my memory, I shall front what binds us, bless it
in poetry and shall rampage over what separates us.
As if both acts is holiness itself and nothing else exists.
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
Lover, it’s tiring in the endangerment of dreams, like the
silhouette, flashing alluring across. Experience in love,
is a life worth sacrificing for. And you’re too late, you’re
burnt in my memory, I shall front what binds us, bless it
in poetry and shall rampage over what separates us.
As if both acts is holiness itself and nothing else exists.
Request permission to use this poem