The warmth of your hands on my collarbone,
recycled air turning in the space
between lips
as goosebumps awaken
for when we lay
we live.
So much energy
trapped within this prison
but when skin touches
particles of me always find an escape.
The warmth of your hands on my collarbone,
recycled air turning in the space
between lips
as goosebumps awaken
for when we lay
we live.
So much energy
trapped within this prison
but when skin touches
particles of me always find an escape.