Come right down the cobble path,
Meet me by the roses.
Do you feel the sun?
It's as warm as your touch.
I'll lead the way into the trees.
Meet me by the old oak.
A shower, they say.
Expect it'll chill like your touch.
Come on further, we're not done.
Meet me by the vines.
Have you ever felt torn?
It results from your touch.
You lie, you listen, yet feel nothing.
Stick the brambles in my head.
Let me lie amongst the weeds.
Compared to your touch,
Their grip is like velvet.
© Copyright 2016 rebel. All rights reserved.
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