The core of childish sensitivity outweighed her crippling naivety. Nary a feathery stroke fell upon her skin, but as circling overcame maturity it became as new and naked as ever. I saw her for the birth of raw words and jaded minds.
It was so far from the truth I mistook it for love. Some kind of amalgam of misplaced affection. It was wasted on just the right one as her lies fell from silence.

A slow break in the monotony,
As low whispers fill my eyes.
There is a silence on the air with a subtle cruelty,
Redolent of my most feverish nights.
Impressionable though you are,
The fierce desire of each night spent lying awake so the coarse memory of your skin may plague my mind.
The Kiss never seemed so haunting,
So deathly.
I can't believe it would look as I feel even today.
I drink the remedy in silence,
But not tranquility.
Complacency is a mistaken innervation.
Jaded though widely perceived as infallible truth.
Divinity is as tranquility strives to be,
For I have witnessed your gaze,
And know it to be true.