And I sit here waiting,
Realising I am not to you what you are to me,
But still I sit in the false hope,
That you will make time, or at least remember-
When you touched me, how I felt-
The scent of my strawberry lips against your rough skin.
Utterly forbidden, but still we pressed
Your words and promises easily filled and were never kept,
And here I sit in my minds lie, that in a moment - our indecent times you will not forget.
Was it so easy for you to take me?
Or was I in a crises of 'love make-believe'?
You have scarred me with your silence-
But KNOW, I'm still here if you remember to taunt my heart with your unclear tease.
Copyright © Maria Riordan | Year Posted 2017