I squeeze my eyes
Along with my thighs
But your rough fingers still creep up my slender legs
Oh, are you telling yourself lies ?
Are you telling yourself; she’s asleep.
Category: Rhyme
MY ANGEL CHILD, Poetry by Cleo Patra
Touching my stomach with trembling butterfly fingers
Knowing I’d never feel you growing in me
Earthquake tremors ripped my tortured heart to pieces
My eyes swam in my blue-stormy tears
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