self-inflicted wounds

in my thoughts, your hug, it bloomed on my wrist
making me slipping delicately in your blood and whispers,
through a sentimental future of our shadows to dance
in the rhythm of our pulse and our longing, for our kisses
to can heal the self-inflicted wounds created by waiting
©ᵏᴼᵏᴼ ↭ un p’tit je ne sais quoi
Joe Bonamassa

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