IML (isaura) wrote in poetmotel,
IML
isaura
poetmotel

when the concrete goes soft

This is hotter, heavier, than
city lights that scrape away at your insides,
this is tragedy after the shock.
The blush under my skin, it'll never be the same again.
Because I'm angry, I'm torn.
Between seeing your arm around her waist,
your mouth on her neck
and the hours we spent the night before that.

Words mean absolutely nothing with moonlight.
And neither did your touch.
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