You Were Meant to be a Memory

Hands accustomed to flirting playing tricks
across my eyes deceiving my need.
I though loneliness lives in old hearts
but yours at night quietly sang 
high on liquor and weed
as we danced and we danced
to an unspoken tune.
Truth hides between kisses
and hands accustomed to emptiness
holding your waist made of moon
as we dance and we dance
high on liquor and weed
to an unspoken tune,
but you were meant to be a memory.
-
HRios
This entry was posted in Poetry.

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