privacy



from a knock on a door,
to what’s under that sweater
it is not yours to see.

the cathedrals of paragraphs
of browse history.
chaos drawn onto paper of torn memories,
it is not yours to see.

take your hands off,
avert you eyes,
stop looking at me like that,
undressing all my secrets with your eyes.
it makes me nervous.






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback