He was fine.
Without his clothes, his physique
would make you think. Is he young?
Well, grey hairs from life and the creation of his first born son.
We looked at each other as if we had met before.
Almost like destiny and too hard to ignore.
Sometimes I asked too many questions,
for some reason he didn't ask enough.
"So, what's up?"
Was it love or was it lust?
I miss the you we met each other as.
Time sped up and life between us seemed to happen fast.
Profligate days of arguing about the past.
Baby, do you love me?
Of course,
I love you.
-ARA
About the Creator
Andrea Andrea
I just love to write.
POETRY IS A: literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature.
TIP APPRECIATED
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