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Literature Text
-it's not your eyes
that are littered
with secrets
it's your hands
cold, from your fingertips,
and warmth, radiating
from your palms
but mine
are in my eyes
(chaotic dreams
burning, spreading
and wavering)
and if you
ever saw them
I would never be
able to hide again-
that are littered
with secrets
it's your hands
cold, from your fingertips,
and warmth, radiating
from your palms
but mine
are in my eyes
(chaotic dreams
burning, spreading
and wavering)
and if you
ever saw them
I would never be
able to hide again-
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Okay this is my third poem I've read of yours and I'm already hooked...now I Watch you lol