by Lizardin Bain

Naive

I wonder how could you believe in promises

that kept bursting from lust filled throat?

When my body had put a special emphasis

on you being my gorgeous scapegoat?

The nonsensical blabber means a bit less

than that coin I forgot on the one-night’s shelf.

How could you believe in the eternal love I confess

when I cannot promise the same to myself?

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