miércoles, abril 21, 2010

I was good.

...but I was not yours,
and still you kept touching my knee.
There, your warm hand over my cold skin.
You had a name (I sure remember)
and I was sweetheart.
Your hand, strong ever my leg.
I, blushing;
Licking my lips,
But I was not yours;
You could only taste my knee.
I was bad.

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