i can never control the expressions on my face except in times like these.
maybe because its the first time.
we have been talking for hours accents and the wheatfield of my youth.
as we laugh your hand touches my thigh.
i think about all the arguments waiting for meeh at home
and the passion thats faded
and i want to escape mais
quel est un homme sil nest pas fidele.
we speak of children and if we can even call them that these days.
these little ones are a special breed with special vulnerabilites.
they live a different life.
and yet you come closer.
all i can think to myself is
i dont remember the last time feeling like this. and i am enjoying every bit of it.
but come morning, we must never speak of this night again.
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