taking time to smell the roses
Dear you, angel eyes with the devish grin, you make me weak. Loving someone is weak. Loving someone who doesn't see you as anything more then yesterdays leftovers weakens ones heart. I wish I didn't care about you, or trying to be strong. Nothing would please me more then having you submit.
Romantic me. Insatible needs. A want to sleep in your arms and have you awaken me with a kiss. You look so fucking angelic and I can't bring myself to move closer. I keep a safe distance obseving you through the eyes of a forgotten love. What once was lust now has driven you so far from my dreams. You look so comfortable and innocent with her, like a happy child awaiting Christmas day to play with his new toys. My stockings been filled with coal.
I keep thinking of the botanical garden.... running my fingers through lush ivy as your hand made it's way up my thigh. Thorns from red roses pricking at us, pulling at the holes in our relationship. I look back to the garden and think perhaps someday we will walk there every day, in our pajamas, not caring who stares at us as we breathe in the fresh air and wait until the stars come out. The sun will dry our tears and we'll bed down for the evening under a tree, sharing a red flannel sleeping bag. Words? Who needs them? Birds are singing, speaking our minds before we can, spilling out our secrets before our mouths can form sentences. The sweet scent of blood red Don Juan's dancing on the breeze.
...take time to smell the roses...
Romantic me. Insatible needs. A want to sleep in your arms and have you awaken me with a kiss. You look so fucking angelic and I can't bring myself to move closer. I keep a safe distance obseving you through the eyes of a forgotten love. What once was lust now has driven you so far from my dreams. You look so comfortable and innocent with her, like a happy child awaiting Christmas day to play with his new toys. My stockings been filled with coal.
I keep thinking of the botanical garden.... running my fingers through lush ivy as your hand made it's way up my thigh. Thorns from red roses pricking at us, pulling at the holes in our relationship. I look back to the garden and think perhaps someday we will walk there every day, in our pajamas, not caring who stares at us as we breathe in the fresh air and wait until the stars come out. The sun will dry our tears and we'll bed down for the evening under a tree, sharing a red flannel sleeping bag. Words? Who needs them? Birds are singing, speaking our minds before we can, spilling out our secrets before our mouths can form sentences. The sweet scent of blood red Don Juan's dancing on the breeze.
...take time to smell the roses...