"I never saw his glimpse more than once at a time. That one look was always enough to make my heart leap into my throat, though. I knew he was not perfect, how could he be? But still, his grapevine hair, almost lighter than his skin, and those lips, ragged, but still the most delicate shade of pink, curled around his ever-burning cigarette, whose smoke reflected in his deep, clear, dark eyes... It all had an air of age unfitting to his cherubic smile and his childish voice. He only ever looked at me very briefly, even when we spoke. I don't know if we could have become friends, and there still sits in me something that doesn't want to find out."
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 9:04 PM UTC
Softly whispering,
Like smoke she drifts away
Transformed
By words you might have heard
But never really listened to...
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 8:46 PM UTC
Take me out for coffee;
I'll ask for tea, instead.
I'll burn my tongue
On phantom blackberries
While I try to find
A way to say
'I love you'
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
ragged
turquoise
hair
d
r
i
p
s d
o
w
n
into glistening eyes
which no one can tell
whatever precious stones
lie beneath
their
wanting
look
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 1:18 AM UTC
His moods are made of earth,
Silent laughter bounds through him
Like lithe and limber creatures,
Creeping, crawling,
Slithering through woods,
Then breaking into the electric chase
For playful eyes,
Staring with a wanting gaze
Through deep, dark pools
Of liquid love.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 12:30 AM UTC