The roses in May remind me of the wine-red nails of that one girl, don’t ask why.
Her proportions are not perfect, but not in my eyes.
She’s a skinny type, but that’s no problem, cause so am I
A glass of wine in her right hand, she touches it as softly as my back at night.
Her outfit is black, just like my mind when I see her tonight.
Others would be jealous, so she’s just a red heart in my contacts.
I love to look at her face, so soft like her morning kiss.
So I lose control every time I see these wine-red nails at night.
Leave a reading
Readings are written by members — free, and the poem stays right here while you write.
Sign in to leave a readingNew here? Create an account — it takes a minute.
Readings so far (1)
Kai Moreno27 October 2026
"the roses in May remind me of the wine-red nails of that one girl" — the kind of comparison that shouldn't work and does. I keep circling back to "a red heart in my contacts," there's a whole modern kind of devotion folded into that one line.