deepundergroundpoetry.com
We Once Sung The Same Melody
The smell of your hair
The color of your lipstick
The exposed soft lips of your half-smile,
they mark the path of travel from the living room
to the bed, like our record collection on the floor.
When we wake up, we'll pick up everything
before it's stepped on and ruined
wait for another night
to make love the way we once listened to music.
The color of your lipstick
The exposed soft lips of your half-smile,
they mark the path of travel from the living room
to the bed, like our record collection on the floor.
When we wake up, we'll pick up everything
before it's stepped on and ruined
wait for another night
to make love the way we once listened to music.
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