love (Remove filter)
Perhaps it was cinnamon
perhaps it is the way you smell when i lay my head on your steady chest.
the people we were last night will watch us through our bedroom window. we’re not the same, and that’s neutral.
perhaps it was cinnamon, less than we ever thought.
the butterflies in my stomach turned to moths ages ago.
by all of the gods and goddesses, it was cinnamon.
Tuesday 21st July 2020 7:38 pm
Recent Comments
John Coopey on YORKSHIRE DAY
9 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Farewell
11 minutes ago
Alexia_Supreme on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
3 hours ago
Landi Cruz on frankenstein
4 hours ago
Trevor Alexander on The Nobel Prize for Lies
12 hours ago
Trevor Alexander on Target
14 hours ago
Mike McPeek on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
18 hours ago
Rick Varden on Slug
21 hours ago
Russell Jacklin on Mob Rule Mentality
21 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Mob Rule Mentality
22 hours ago