#inkthekid

I imagine your feet brushing against mine in the morning way too often. The Eskimo kisses when I had awaken the fighting to get out of bed seemed like a war. But coming home to you always made a tough day worth it. Ending it with kisses down my spine. My waist in a hold that not even the strongest cold break. Security. The good times when love was in the air. The air smelling of white rose and desire. White roses, desire and belonging. Things had gotten strange. I hope you let me touch you. I believe my hands are full of the right intentions The brush of my figure tips against your body leaves a trail A trail of words Each word forming a sentence that becomes our story. The story with a realistic ending We no longer touch. My finger tips beg for your existents The depressing life of my lonely feet Nothing in the morning to keep them company. My spine aches after those tough days. Aching for the kisses that once laid upon it. The white roses have faded, I'm trying hard to feel that security. Danger has sadden my body My body has began to slowly die Sad deaths doesn't exist. We don't exist, The life that was once here is just a myth. A grand story to tell. -iNk