with every kiss we would share,
it came at the cost
of a new smudge on the lenses of my glasses
we would laugh when i pulled away,
complaining i could no longer see
as i wiped it clean
now
i look at the smudges
in remembrance of what we once were
and i never want to clean them again
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
growing seeds from wilted roses
Поэзияdear reader, my friend, please be gentle for you are reading pieces of my heart written onto these pages for your eyes to read and for your heart to feel.
