Poezja

darling, tell me that you want me
because i'm not sure if we can do this,
whatever this is, anymore.

i'm just too tired from smiling,
please don't hold that against me.

my fingers tremble like the minute scales
on butterfly wings, on dragons
and i breathe fire, all right,
flickers of something hotter than you'd believe

and now clocks keep their arms to themselves,
ticking muted, time stops for a second to watch me

does this make me pretty?

for even one stolen second of waiting time,
can you consider me to be gorgeous?