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Ella Gwen Apr 2015
The only language I know is
the touch of your skin on mine. Your
voice my gospel, these days my doctrine.

The bringer of life is no god, there is
no meaning
of existence.

except for those infinite
meaningless miracles
like these times of rapture
of sunlight unrefined

 when those blinding eyes of yours
 turn to greet mine.
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
You are beautiful.
There is no denying it,
that darkness of your eyes and I could cut myself
on the line of your jaw, black stubble defying
youthful skin. Everyone sees it,
the graceful strength secreted in those
muscles, taut and lean, life lived to
challenging extremes. It is odd, this
obsession with aesthetics, your face really
means nothing and I know this, yet I can
still fall into staring at your fearful
symmetry, grace and night entwined
as you walk on unaware.
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
The moment I let myself love you
happened incidentally, it was never
my intention and, yes, I was fiercely opposed,
but sometimes letting go of this fight to
keep yourself distant is
fundamental to being awake.

I say a moment, it was more like a collection,
a combination, a calamitous effect
of all the instants we spent, your eyes
widening and dark lashes closing shut only
to open again, drowning upon my face.

Yes,
this is going nowhere except
for the fact it has all already helped
me cross oceans and I will always have
the memory of your laughter and that
one moment
when your face said my smile alone
made the sun shine.
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
It was the greatest night and I didn't even
look up to the stars because they were
all around, lighting up our feet as
we smiled and stepped across solar systems,
universes and galaxies in our quest to
make those memories that will carry me carefree
towards the end of all things.
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
There's a sister who floats with hungry collarbones and a razor-edged smile. She smokes sadness when she isn't ready to exhale.

She is beauty in fine art and wrath the colour of thunderstorms; the rain comes when she smiles.

Holier than thou and quick to judge, with antiseptic perception known to bring out the things you were not aware existed.

Addictive, those imprints from her feet will stamp all over you; nimble fingers puppeteering those who fall out of her thoughts.

She is selfish and always leaves, leaves, leaves. She ran away at the first tremor; she did not stay to watch the concrete crumble.

But she picked me up when the concrete friction broke my knees, lashed tyrants with her tongue and prowled behind the boyfriends that came and always went.

This sister whom I project; the image of her I mirror. She is love and laughter and moods that taper and flare.

She is a cluster of persons, a bomb liable to a detonate on a short fuse. She is trouble ailing in the best possible way; her flames light up the shade.
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
There was a girl to be seen sometimes,
her breath at the pulse of my throat
and fingers wrapped, such elegant porcelain
skin pressed against my forehead.

She fell into my eyes and I swallowed her
not whole, only those little bits she left.

She does not nourish me,
only curls up in my liver where guilt
prickles every time I let the toxins in.

The only words she spoke reverberate in my lungs
so each of our breaths whisper what I am not -
'when I was younger I knew I could be anything
it was only when I got older that I forgot.'
Ella Gwen Apr 2015
Thousands of words make up this language
and an endless million more that I could misplace,
but no combination thereof could ever halfway gauge
that look right now, sitting plain upon your face.
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