Unpolished

sharing beds

and though
I smell her perfume
I resume to make
love on your hands
the soft strands
of hair which flail
in the constant wind;
the blatant sin
of bodies entwined.
I insist on a kiss
a pretentious tryst
and summon ways
of crisp, summer days.

how a prince like me
could show so much mercy
to a slip of his judgment.
I blame to his steely eyes.
those worn-out lies
in various shades of brown
which allows me to
sleep at peace with an enemy.

Source: pinksubmergence