just kids

how gentle the traces of his rough, calloused fingers on the smooth of her skin

porcelain white like the corners of her mind

pristine and blank, innocent without a speck

though she puts on a front of maturity and wears a mask of astuteness

all her glamour could never hide her vulnerability

that comes out in the presence of a cold lover as he

who now traces her neck with kisses, ending at the collarbone

she’s clamoring for more

as they end the night, he asleep on a heavenly cloud

while she sat up and awake thinking why and how

she smokes her cigarette and trembles so

she has the Rubenesque body of a woman

and a child’s fragile soul.


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