When you lay a hand on my cheek
I see nothing but rose colored scenery
Everything is pink
Glossy
Heavenly
But I realize all too late
Your hand is not only off my cheek but also off my chest
The rosy scenery were sunglasses
And they belonged to a fool
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
