He wore a new coat
And I thought shamelessly
Of him without it,
Without any clothes at all;
I wanted to strip away
Our exteriors-
As beautiful as his is-
But I want to know him
And be known.
His arms are strong
They can hold me
Oh gentle current
Sweet, darling Fate
Take me to him,
I've waited so long.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
