Sometimes I wonder how would it feel
if I were to be the air that you breathe;
the story that binds you;
the storm that blinds you.
If I were to be the feather
that brushes the hairs you tether
as you sleep
and plays harmonies as you weep.
If I were to be the hair that touches
your cheek without previous endorsement
and the fork that touches your tongue
followed by a moan.
How would it feel like to melt in your throat like a treat;
to travel to your navel
where all those wonderful creatures you keep
remain at ease; moving, but stable.
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder how would it feel
if I were to be the air that you breathe;
the story that binds you;
the storm that blinds you.
If I were to be the feather
that brushes the hairs you tether
as you sleep
and plays harmonies as you weep.
If I were to be the hair that touches
your cheek without previous endorsement
and the fork that touches your tongue
followed by a moan.
How would it feel like to melt in your throat like a treat;
to travel to your navel
where all those wonderful creatures you keep
remain at ease; moving, but stable.
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