small crimes

in love, if you're not losing your mind,
it means you waste your time, isn't it?

the breast of the muses is scorching…
lips bit one other for so much unkissed

the small crimes of longing are smiling,
laying on my bed, listening to bedding

naturally, who's getting mood to write
when all body is so as trapped in love

poetic audience

Explore Popular Posts From This Blog

ain't stopping

mille fois

bad episode

broken

on repeat

dream's scenario

internet

love is sweet

time does not change

universe