Wicked Whispers haunt the halls,
My lonely ear pressed against the walls.
Passion nights, alive as the Dead Sea,
You're quieter than you used to be.
Your lips hold secrets to be told,
A mystery sewn shut- enclosed.
A spell makes you rapt withal,
A lover so aware of it all.
I hear you whisper in the night,
An explosive mine awaiting to ignite.
And as dishonesty lingers in the air,
Stays the stains of a love so cavalier.
YOU ARE READING
Growing pains
PoetryA collection of poems I write when I'm bored. Am I procrastinating? No. Definitely not.
