Often we'd laugh and giggle like unexplainable bliss,
a little slip, hit and miss, but quick to cover it up with
Hush, a pale face turns red and blends in with your lips,
an elegant index finger is attracted to the end of your kiss
What am I to this? I am the receiver to your amaranth face,
gave your heart a taste to knock my dispositions in place
Not too loud, not too soft, suspicion raises a disapproving brow,
excommunicate us from society 'cause they think we doin' what now?
What, how? I hope my reach contacts your cheek at the end of my palm,
struggle through the storm and procrastinate the end of this calm
We know we're well aware that what we're doin' is wrong,
we may not have long untill our feelings are gone
Illuminate the soul,
so often we'd go...
Created: Jan 10, 2010Document Media