Your hands kneadmy breastslike water kneadslumps of soilduring a violent rainand it smells likepetrichor on your handsafter you touchmy anxious partsand both sigh outeach others' nameslike cloudssigh out thunder. - The Broken Clock
Your hands kneadmy breastslike water kneadslumps of soilduring a violent rainand it smells likepetrichor on your handsafter you touchmy anxious partsand both sigh outeach others' nameslike cloudssigh out thunder.
- The Broken Clock