Lay here with me a field full of bliss
I can smell your past on the tip of your tongue it tastes of lost hope and little flutters of sour
You are handsome beyond belief and any woman shall claim you as theirs
Tears disrupt the feel of the flowers beneath young bodies I’m growing fond of your femininity
Who spoke on the existence of a man prehistoric love lost cursed you into solitude
-Tara Simone™
Leave a Reply