Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

You withhold yourself from me Typically I get lifted from mind trips to Sicily Piece of me lays preciously gazing into a symphony of promises left empty words searching for clarity Contorted into blasphemy If you ask me The desire for connection runs deep As deep as a the collection of rain drops called the sea I remember I would look at you thinking that’s who I’m supposed to be with. Ha, love, what A myth