"fague" poems
Ah, how Lucy's hair waved in the wind,
leaving nothing but copper strings behind.
Ah, how Lucy's voice flew in between the hurricanes raindrops,
leaving nothing but the fague sound of an angelic ballad.
Ah, how Lucy's hands would stroke the rose's thorns,
leaving nothing but a track of ****** fingerprints.
Ah, how Lucy's lips where always pouty,
leaving nothing but promising kisses behind.
Ah, how Lucy left.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:28 AM UTC