When we kiss, we don't make a sound.
The faint crackling of our souls,
Plays like an old gramophone,
With the 60's songs at prime.
Our hands are winter cold,
Like freezing room tiles.
And our feet are naked,
Like my bare back grimly sheathed
With December wool.
And our hearts?
They're heavy.
For it's a kiss stolen in secret,
A secret, sealed in our hearts
Like a skeleton in a cupboard. тАФ % &
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