Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2018
Your eyes, golden brown
Soft, delicate fingers brushing a single curl
Against my cold face
"body heat helps frostbite,"
You tell me
And you lick your lips knowing
I am unconditionally doomed
In our paracosm you would be my wife
Bound by our losses and found by each other
In the unlit room, you're mine for just the hour
And maybe that's enough.
Written by
Arke  30
(30)   
368
     Poet X and Butch Decatoria
Please log in to view and add comments on poems