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Leave it in the Previous Month

or eight

By Kylie MartinPublished a day ago 2 min read

Pressing in making the world fade away

Of course my head is spinning

You have found the depths of what only I know

But oh, you can’t come and disrupt my life

For a little while, I guess

After tomorrow, I’ll wave goodbye like I do to all the rest

For no one can handle her greatness

Who cares, I’ll train someone new

While thinking about your sweat on my skin

Your arm around me

Your lips on my neck

The thrill of passion I may never know again

The forbidden fruit of two opposite worlds

How come my morals over shout the sound of our passion at the grip of your kiss?

My lips tied with yours, making me believe in eternal bliss

How I hate when it ends

You leave me in a pile

Numb, your touch lingering for days

The energy re-surging with every thought

They are welcome solicitors, selling me the best story

But I know it’s temporary and I must move on to exist

Lend me your lips, let me borrow your presence

While I’ll move on without you, I have no regrets

Summer nights full of scandal

There never was a thing

Just you between my sheets

With your body wrapped around mine

Ecstasy gluing me to you

I would never let go

If only I didn’t know

For now, we’ll leave it at lust

Leave it in the previous month

My soul doesn’t want to speak about it

However, this busy heart is never quiet

I must muse about the times

Tangled up and pretending to be in love

Kisses from a stranger who I now share a story with

Hands on my waist while I dream

Ones I’ve hardly looked at or held

I couldn’t write about how they appear if I tried

Only of how their touch goes deep inside my soul with every whisp on my skin

Drawing me closer to the air I freely float in

Taking over my conscious

I wrote about my favorite dimension

Only one day after I say I need another to help me escape

He waltzed in to tornado my life

Just for a moment, not a second longer than that

The whole point of this poem

A summer muse?

How thrilling for this little soul of mine

Who only wishes to let the world seep its beauty into me

A muse being part of it

While I dash off to my secret spots alone

What a treasure it is to bleed onto paper the contents of my organs

So a bullet never touches them

Just the goodness of this earth and a muse

love poems

About the Creator

Kylie Martin

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