Did you mumble those words under spells?
That you untangle these weaves of thorns with my heart.
My fragile, yearning, amateur, naivety of a heart.
Where would this be a crime?
Surely, you lied to stretch out a feeble heart.
Perjury of the flesh, too.
Nights of passion seeped into the proximity of our skins.
As our silence, pledged to never leave,
I see a facade lived as an...