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Hands (The Atlantic)
Folder:
The Letters Your hands are merciless
They reach across plains and
travel amongst lost ruins
With each subtle word,
I am held captive to your design
Even the Atlantic beckons when
you close your fists
Even I, am no match for your love song
the tips of pink tongues
oh how I wait
and ache
Baby, you don't know
I bet you move like clear water
like pieces of rain on the worst of days
Like there is no other place in
this world
except at the monument of hands
The two, clasped together
never parting
Oh how I want
How I cant have.
<3
<3
Much Love
Ashley