I spend my nights,
Awake,
Wondering whose arms he is in
And in whose I will rest,
Thinking of how that skin of his
Set mind alight.
I spend my nights,
Awake,
Wondering whose arms he is in
And in whose I will rest,
Thinking of how that skin of his
Set mind alight.
The world is a whirl of moving colour. It has no time for a mind that can’t touch long enough to stop its spin.
But still you are fixated
on the sound
of the colour yellow.