A poet.
will break-
The soliloquy,
That made
Cupid.
wrapped in silk sheets and bloody knees
in a confession,
you did not seek.
‘I thought we were friends.’
The only love;
I know-
Lives at the end of my pen.
A poet confesses their truth
A poet.
will break-
The soliloquy,
That made
Cupid.
wrapped in silk sheets and bloody knees
in a confession,
you did not seek.
‘I thought we were friends.’
The only love;
I know-
Lives at the end of my pen.