You left yesterday
and I have already
spent years searching
for your touch,
both gentle and sharp
like bitter love songs.
For every time
you kissed me,
I am left with burns.
I should have realized
I didn’t know how
to play with fire.
You left yesterday
and I have already
spent years searching
for your touch,
both gentle and sharp
like bitter love songs.
For every time
you kissed me,
I am left with burns.
I should have realized
I didn’t know how
to play with fire.