You cause a
Hundred butterflies to stir in
Her stomach;
Their delicate wings
Almost as gentle as
The fingertips that brush
Feathered eyelashes and
Heart-shaped lips;
The colour of the waxy rose
Petals, scattered upon
Satin sheets;
And she drifts away, dreaming,
The name,
A mere
Whisper on
Scarlet lips.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
They twisted and twirled
On their aching feet,
Creating a beautiful scenery,
While their muscles
Screamed in protest at the movements;
They flexed and stretched
Their bruised limbs,
Bringing tears to the eyes of their audience,
While their spines
Refused to bend any father;
They contorted and deformed
Their tired bodies,
The spectators all in awe,
While their dance
Came to it's final end
And they're legs gave way beneath them
And they fell to the floor
And pretended that they did not feel a thing.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
On the way down,
he remembered he'd left his bed unmade,
and a ***** coffee cup in the sink basin,
and hadn't finished the book he was reading
and would never know how it ends.
On the way down,
he pictured himself with his corkscrew curls,
and his sun-kissed skin,
and his gentle brown eyes only to be remembered
by the photographs on the mantelpiece downstairs.
On the way down,
he thought about the girl he loved,
and the moment she told him
that she did not love him back
and he would never have the chance to change her mind.
On the way down,
there was the sudden realisation that he was
falling
and he did not have time to ponder
any more.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
They resemble photographs,
And the pages within a book
And the perfume she uses to
Fragrance her skin;
They embody song lyrics,
And the jewellery that adorns her wrists
And the gentle twists of her hair
Secured with a scarlet bow;
They're entwined with her laughter,
And the words she writes on her skin
In ink,
And scrawls eagerly
In the back of an old notebook,
In order to keep herself from
Forgetting.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC