She is my comfort in my storm,
The breath in my lungs
The soul in every poem that I write

When her hands are on my body
And her lips are on my neck
Her name is the prayer on my tongue

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, hanging on these little things life grants us is the reason of our survival;]


in his feels

I know I see

the drowned drips of the feet

smiles of the fakes he sweeps

lick the lips and motion the blondes to touch

hearts to brush

always as also so little as much

thinking when he means of the ones and the twos

the whispers and the apples to smell to near

hairs so dark for the safe to fear

maybe then the want would not haste

or not for the come to paste

invisible to the seen to the face

on the yellows they still remain

or blue flowers on the neck I wish the belongs come to make


                                                                               -------ravenfeels