• ar_poetic 9w

    On This Bed

    On this bed
    Backs turned
    Hugging our separate edges
    We are continents away
    I, a sub-saharan desert - a barren
    wasteland of unrequited lust
    You, a blizzard ridden, frozen Antarctic tundra
    Coldly rejecting any attempt at global warming
    On this bed
    Backs turned
    Hugging our separate edges
    We are muted orchestras
    Belting out our internal songs
    Deaf to each other's melody
    On this bed
    Our souls once had the same address
    There was passion
    Now we are strangers on different continents
    And only one of us wants to cross
    The foaming ocean
    That hisses relentlessly
    Threatening to swallow us whole.
    ©ar_poetic