I live for kiwi mango lip gloss
sweet clinging glitter syrup
that will inevitably rub off
on your pillow-
These dirty sheets reek of
cosmic stardust.
The echoes of your whisper
Inside me, tells me
you’d rather stay inside
make a cinema of this utopia,
As we speak the same tongue.
But its never enough
like peaches in heavy syrup
dripping from your tongue
always wanting more
filling this hole while were on hold,
as the cosmos align
so we can have eternity.
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