Shame on you.
Shame on me.
Shame on us for being typical teens.
I should be good.
You should be, too.
But there’s no fun in telling truths.
Because hands are wandering.
And lips are, too.
But they can’t be lies when it’s just me and you.
This heat is deep.
It’s been pent up too long.
And I don’t give a damn if this is wrong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem