We tried so hard for feelings
That were more than simple lust,
Ran our fingers through the sheets
In a hunt for hope and trust.
But a life cannot be built
On tangles in the dark,
When come the morning sunrise,
Clouds of reality dull its spark.
Skin, warm against the bed sheets,
But cold to your touch;
Our fingertips feel everything,
But the heart feels nothing much.
→ livingthroughlines 2016.