There was a boy I knew.
He used to say,
He was scared of death.
He said it felt dark
And
hidden
And
engulfing.
He didn't want to die,
He was too scared of death.
But this boy I knew,
Fell in love,
Fell in love with a girl,
Whose skin was as white as snow,
And as soft as velvet of all the shades he could wear in on go.
Whose hair was dark and black as ebony,
And light and brown as a berry.
Whose eyes held the stars
And
Dreams,
And
carried hopes which were heavier than reality.
Whose lips were not as red as a beet,
But
Were as pretty as a September peach.
Whose body was not as clear as that of the magazine girls,
But
Yet she was made up of stardust and yellow pearls.
Whose nose was not the perfect shape,
But
She was his 'idol' kind of face.
Whose body was not as perfect as the stories they tell,
But
As the thousand imperfections like in the poems she wrote.
Whose curves were not as defined as apples, peaches and spheres,
But
Were as captivating as the life of his dreams.
Whose voice was as sweet as milk and honey,
he said.
And whose talks were the only words he wanted to hear.
Who was as precious as life for him.
Whose kisses were burning fire in the mahogany woods with the essence of ambrosia.
But little did he know
that
She was the death he feared to go near.
He loved her,
He said.
But he was scared of death,
He used of say.