Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Brittany Sep 2014
And from my  heart,
It is born,
pure and warm
Skipping through my body and making a trail of  tiny explosions
of happiness
Traveling to my fingertips which flex and clench,
as if there was something there to hold.
My chest tightens
trying to capture it but it escapes
to my throat getting stuck
Trying to wrap itself in sounds but
nothing  seems to fit quite right
So it floats
to my brain dwelling in a tizzy
trying to find the words
to describe how you make me feel.
I wish that when I sigh (because I feel so breathless)
my breath could manifest into a being and drift
to you
Settling on your skin, dotting it with small bursts of heat
as it pinballs around your  brain, leaving
a pleasant weight on your chest as it gently falls
upon your heart
and never again would we struggle to find the right words.
  Aug 2014 Brittany
Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

— The End —