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By juan d'fule Date: 2005 Apr 09 Comment on this Work [[2005.04.09.17.35.27817]] |
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My lips burn, we're yet to kiss My skin tingles, we're yet to touch My body sweats, we're yet to love The potential, like falling leaves, Swaying, like a senoritas dress Casts a shadow on the ground, Ever changing circles While the call of your words Are promises made for a night, The smell of your body Like the shores of a distant land Whose harbour warm and sweet, Lies just out of reach, yet calls to me with Promises, promises, promises. |