you come to bed at midnight in pieces
many colours on your vitreous skin move
you might be made of glass in this light
Mookaite skin colours move and change
you caress me as we become colours
Poetry | Stories | Photography
you come to bed at midnight in pieces
many colours on your vitreous skin move
you might be made of glass in this light
Mookaite skin colours move and change
you caress me as we become colours
Great post
LikeLike