I would kill for the touch of your hands,
And my memory'll get me at last.
I got over my own offence,
Still, I'd rather die sleeping, and fast.
This is only tonight that I'm weak.
Spilling tears and forgetting the past.
Being here without you makes me sick,
So I'd rather die dreaming of us.
Silky hair that's so pleasant to touch -
And your body - exclusively mine.
I would stand for and die for as much,
But I'm running so out of time...
Kill
© Copyright: Мейлинг Ирина, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112032611556
Свидетельство о публикации №112032611556
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