close
by windrag
i haven’t forgotten the flower that hid in your bosom,
or the honey of your voice when we both had landlines.
the winter dried up all our bushes, but sweetie, it’s spring:
these wings, they know their purpose.
i haven’t forgotten the flower that hid in your bosom,
or the honey of your voice when we both had landlines.
the winter dried up all our bushes, but sweetie, it’s spring:
these wings, they know their purpose.