The Way Things Used To Be

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The Way Things Used To Be

 

Our home has become as lonely

as the last leaf on a dying tree

laughter no longer reverberate against walls

we consummated with our love

old arguments replay themselves endlessly

like a scratched record avoiding the next beat

the eerie shadows of who we once were

turn us into restless spirits of the night 

as we haunt ourselves with stained memories of

the way things used to be

 

Photo from Google Images

DISCLAIMER: This is fiction.

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Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac

A woman's hands on a computer keyboard

Her Words Are My Aphrodisiac

Her words are my aphrodisiac
as her tender keystrokes
burn my trembling skin
hypnotized by lovely metaphors
she fills my voids with sin

Her words are my aphrodisiac
let my body be a clean sheet
where she pens a little prose
I will admire every syllable
more than she will ever know

 

Photo taken from Google Images