Author Edward James A grunt. A moan. An exaggerated sound of released compressed air. Your sweet lips parted, And I heard your last breath. Forever in my wildest daydreams I won't forget, For I don't regret my actions, But I do regret your blood on my shirt. Tags dream Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments