Your cup lays there,
unwashed, untouched.
One spot is darker,
alive,
and it touched your lips.
One,
two,
a hundred times
you took,
a hundred sips.
Again,
and again,
touched those lips
I wish,
I could've kissed those lips.
So give me your soul
drip by drip,
Just one,
two,
a hundred sips.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Your cup lays there,
unwashed, untouched.
One spot is darker,
alive,
and it touched your lips.
One,
two,
a hundred times
you took,
a hundred sips.
Again,
and again,
touched those lips
I wish,
I could've kissed those lips.
So give me your soul
drip by drip,
Just one,
two,
a hundred sips.
