He softens his stash with conditioner
In case his lips are kissed.
Chews mint gum for breath
In case his tongue is met.
Deodorizes, adds a scent with cologne,
And straightens the home to show no mess.
The music and the moon is hung
In the air around his flight.
But one thing he left a mess
In search of worthiness this night
And his desire to be kissed;
His sloppy, unorganized broken heart
Cause only one can groom what he missed.
‹ The Wind
I was good till the end….made me sad.
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