Poetry (words)

The spoken words.

I pressed my bottom lip just below yours. I tasted all of your secrets all of your flaws. In a moment of complete intoxication I gave up wishing.

Outside all of this the stars shine, distant moments burning up another place in time. Your fingers through my hair eclipse the breathlessness. In a moment of epiphany I gave up hoping. 

I am tired of validating every word I said, exhausted by the invisible demons in your head. Fighting non existing battles just to lose the thread. In a moment of ecstasy I let go of this. 

Poetry can’t exist without the spoken words. 

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