Living In Sin
M
Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken
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She dreamed of candlelit evenings,
soft jazz humming through warm air,
love spilling like red wine
on an unstained table.
But morning smears the vision-
a sink clotted with yesterday,
a bed unmade, sheets tangled
like questions never asked.
The man stirs, sighs,
searches for his lighter,
mutters about the cold,
never looks her way.
She scrubs at the silence,
rinses her hands in regret,
paints her lips with a lie
before stepping into the day.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş