Your lips, they touch a decent line,
Of coffee cups and mine,
They don't just recognise ceramic,
But also howl and mimic.
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Do they tremble when they press against the cloud,
Noxious weed and toxic shroud,
Inhaling depth,
Exhaling death.
Every cloud does not have a silver line,
You broke your promise to keep mine,
How are you so rigid, a stone boy,
Grow up and be a man without decoy.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Cadence - Intense Poetry
PoesiaEver got drifted away, only to find yourself planted in a row of rhythm? Well, this collection of poems is right here to sway you away!
