In the crook of my knees i find
you kissing me.
The seldom gnawing on my skin is of the places
you've touched me.
We're lying here
smiling at the wreck cementing
on our cheeks,
we kiss each other till our lips bleed
and
bedroom
becomes our grave.
When did we wear the flesh of
our drunk cities,
the many cold lights that glisten in your eyes
are solemn puddles of
liquid
moonlight now.
Until neighbours knock on the apartment door
because the house starts
smelling like
love chewing on the leftovers of christmas at the back door of a porshe restaurant,
then kissing us with the same tongue
to scratch the souls
in our skeletons we're hostages of.
YOU ARE READING
Rhyming Resurrections - a teenager's thoughts
PoetryJust random blurbs of writing on love, mental health and more <3 // Don't copy my work. Its my own and not copied.
