We don’t kiss, we just lay there.
I got your nose in my hair,
hands on my hips and you’re wondering:
Am I ticklish.
Yes I’m ticklish everywhere you touched.
It’s morning. The alarm screams.
You have to go soon, you have to get out of bed.
It’s cold when you move.
This is torture, it’s fucking horrible.
You don’t want to leave.
– Hours by Lemuria