Naive
He touched my skin as a fragile page from his favorite book when he hadn't even memorized my words,
And I thought that was love.
Five days and six nights in which I dedicated myself
allowing his senses to become engulfed by my existence,
Forgetting the world outside of my callouses
whilst convincing himself they were beautiful.
I fueled our addictions without hesitation
as if burnt lungs could hold secrets like prisons
and I thought this was trust.
And I thought that was love.
Five days and six nights in which I dedicated myself
allowing his senses to become engulfed by my existence,
Forgetting the world outside of my callouses
whilst convincing himself they were beautiful.
I fueled our addictions without hesitation
as if burnt lungs could hold secrets like prisons
and I thought this was trust.