God I miss him,
I miss the days of old.
I can taste it.
It tasted like a windy summer night.
Where the waxing gibbous moon was radiating;
Lighting up the cloudless night and then reflecting on the surface of my heart.
Where every small movement of he makes
– with his lips, hands and fingers caused ripples.
They were exaggerated in the best way possible.
It tasted like a cold autumn night;
Like the golden, sweet and sticky honey;
drizzled over warm waffles and a hot cup of rose tea.
Where the waxing gibbous moon was glowing;
Glowing through my curtains then onto my mirror,
casting a reflection on my bed.
Where he lies all day,
Waiting for me to return from reality –
to where I truly belong.
Where we waltzed with stars and I slide down the Milky Way
right into his arms.
I am a nefelibata.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
She was nyctophilia;
In the darkness,
The moon and stars was her Nakama;
She could hear the stars whispering,
And the moon comforting her.
As she licked her wounds and drowns in her own sobs.
In the darkness,
Her room becomes her hermetic fantasy world;
One where her cries sound mellifluous,
One where her wounds look ethereal
Her pain was considered tacenda,
But in that little Universe, she built,
She was rebirth – with each heartbreak.
She is a philocalist - a Lunar Pisces
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC