We are alone, no more remotes,
And I am following your words,
The way they tread. Slow is the pace.
Your voice’s like from the outer space.
I’m so confused when you are near.
I like the way you say “my dear”,
The way you say that I’m your “my”,
The way you’re looking at the sky.
I can’t but follow this appeal
I like the way you’re so unreal!
And this is high time to confess:
Because of you I’m in a mess.
In a mess
© Copyright: Ронни Фоксова, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118022707651
Свидетельство о публикации №118022707651
Рецензии