söndag 8 december 2013

Söndag

I need the taste of your lips against mine.
I want the warmth of your hands over mine.
I like your cold-ass feet beside mine.
I think I may be falling. Fast and merciless.
Soon I'll hit the hard, cold pavement without anything slowing me down.
This is too quick, I have to hit the breaks so that I won't scare you away.

I like the air you breathe in my neck.