My Stories Of You (chapter one)
Back touching back,
but the skin can't feel the other skin,
as clothes get in the way,
and the emptiness of the two,
is uneven for you and me.
It enters without knocking,
the bitch they call life,
a lie
ripping your butterflies wings
until love is held back, in it's leash.
In this live picture of us,
we stil are
a little bit less in love with each other,
and more distant than those stars,
which may or may not be dead.
Alone, killing my time, in this scented absence of you
I paint the wholeness of my mind
with the loss of you, and with those kisses, that made you my first love, and more than any other girl I've met or not.
Ending it, when you still mean so much to me
is not as easy as I thought it to be.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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