shes like
cold orange juice at 4 o clock in the morning
like the first sight of pure green on the hills
the deep breathe of clean air
that touches the tired parts of my ribs
like morning dew
or petrichor
the soft rain, that feels like kisses
the sweetest symphony
the sounds that give you gooseflesh
the curl of my toes, after tenderness you forgot
like the lights when they blur by the city skyline
an empty theater, begging to break the achy silence
shes like the passionate way you speak about something you adore
or the second replay of your favourite song
shes the entire feeling of happy
she is living
and she likes me back
YOU ARE READING
(BASKET CASE)
Poetry"One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple." -Jack Kerouac
