We never.

I am a distant constellation
Her eyes revolve around me
Like satellites.

Intentionally
Planted in my orbit.

She sinks
Into
Pretentious
Intentions

Divided by her past
Added by her present

Subtracted from her purpose
Deviated from her path

Fooled
Naive

Excessive
Spontaneously

In and out of love

She happens to be here
Tomorrow who might have her
By their side

No one can predict
Her abrupt strides

In which she covers the diameter of this city

Lovers
Poetry
Women
Men

They all have access to her
Oh what a pity

And then her mother tells her

I am here to make sure
That you fuck with others
Not with yourself.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s