Rhyming with Lust
I’m not one for rhymes.
I haven’t got the time, you see.
My minutes are too valuable
to be spent comparing words
to tropical birds, my mind aches
just to think on it. Underwater,
I can abandon reason,
but it isn’t the right season
for swimming in crystal clear lakes.
It’s too cold where I’ve been,
wind keeps you from feeling
anything but the chill,
it will, and everything freezes,
including the breezes.
Fast forward to us holding hands,
bangs in my eyes,
your hands on me under the table
making me unable to move,
unwilling to go, anywhere
but here.
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