Salt on your cheecks, freckles like pepper,
salty- savory
Unspoken words on my lips. There's no chance of you saving me.
Sailing free.
See, I love your old car with half-broken system.
Jealousy or misunderstanding - whoever is my assistant
But it ain't helping, we can't part nor get a little closer,
Your skin is whiskey with too much ice, and I'm frozen.
I'm overdosing, high, drunk and there are dozen
Of reasons
that I should stop thinking of your kisses.
Your sneakers are older and dirtier than any of my sins.
It seems
Like when you sleep you see the wild things in your dreams.
And I'm too obsessed with my ambitions, life-demanding decisions.
I want to drive in your old ride all night to "The smiths".
Wherever your mind is, I'm going.
Kenai, say something.
Rupert Marshetta
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118102600721
Свидетельство о публикации №118102600721
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