Later into the night—sometimes early in the wee hours of the morning, I feel your love. The way you finally let some kind words escape your rosemary lips, making me alive with buzzing joy. I don't hesitate to flirt back, and how desperately I hope your heart is beating an arrhythmic tattoo on your ribcage like mine is. Oh, it was going so well until you said it—one word to bring back painful memories I struggle to dampen, summoning tears and breathlessness and sleepless nights. Oh my dear, how I hope you feel the same.
YOU ARE READING
poetry.
Poetryjust a place to keep all my poetry together. read if you must, comment if you dare.
