My dearest Angelina —
Your lips were as red
as the mistletoe that hung above us
on christmas eve;
Now your stomach was covered
with the color that I loved,
And your head hung low
when my blade pierced you
as it rained.
Jul 12, 2024
Jul 12, 2024 at 6:42 AM UTC
My dearest Angelina —
Your lips were as red
as the mistletoe that hung above us
on christmas eve;
Now your stomach was covered
with the color that I loved,
And your head hung low
when my blade pierced you
as it rained.
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