BORROWED TIME

When you look at the face that was me,

I wonder, really… what do you see?

Can you see the person inside?

Can you see any trace of pride?

Can you see the pain that I fight?

Can you see my wrong and my right?

Can you see my plea and my plight?

 

When you touch the fingers of my lovely hand,

I wonder, really… do you understand,

The endless tunnel that runs in my mind,

The chill that shivers down my spine,

The butterfly that flutters in my stomach,

The fire that burns my private part,

The warmth summer deep in my heart…

 

When you kiss my lovely hands and delicious lips,

I wonder if you could feel me slips,

Losing my religion and my grip,

Willingly giving in to the craze,

Gratefully holding on to your embrace,

Just so I’ve the chance to prolong,

This borrowed time so I’ll feel belonged…