my blood is red... it must be the wine

 He blurs the line
between freedom
and intimacy

In his presence
I am whole
I am home
I am unashamed

Freedom never tastes
the way we imagine
and I find myself
wanting to break
with the memories
of things held dear
reborn in a moment

I am lost
in the lyrical web
of long drives
on rainy nights
my soul seeping
through my skin
and into his mouth

He is a breath on my cheek
a whispered nothing
a could have been
a perhaps could be
if only I could forget who I am

Indie Adams 2016
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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