i call his name
and beckon him in
the dark.
i can tell
he doesn't want to
know.
but i pull him by the sleeve,
his body close to mine
as he tries to see past
the curtain.
and all of a sudden
i've lost myself
with a fistful of
perfection
in my grasp.
YOU ARE READING
blinded
Poetryshe was blinded by his perfection. he was too blind to realise. ☁ [copyright simile-, two thousand and fourteen] #140 in Poetry | #904 in Romance
