A finger RUbs
my tender neck
a tingle runs down
my spine
I try to get up
and playful fingers
grab my,
Rusty, grubby thigh
Tears well in my eyes
as I watch
The fingers
Lace all with in mine
I can't trust this guy
who goes to far
managing to make me cry
I hate those blistered fingers
as they run slowly down my spine
Softly spoken
forehead to forehead
I love these one on one itmes
But they never last
And you wont either
Once I am done
in time.
Once your gone
I will not cry
or miss
those 'blessed' times.
Slowly I pry away your fingers
And ignore your beckoning cries,
I get up
And I walk away
Without a doubt left in my mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem