Her blood lips and pale face was a moon in the night
He held her with gentle whispers of things unsaid between the two
The thick, dead silence of only living words
but death to strike them down with bullets hurting like swords
When they first met
He gave her a pen
She left him with words
He was her first
She was his first
A forbidden love
But she had to let him go
He couldn't take away the pain
She died with the words "You were my first, and only love, I love you"
The paper got lost in the wind.
And so did he.

Under those far-reached specks
Of joyful glittering stars
Steps a thoughtful wanderer
Like a philosopher in a hazy road of night.

In his wrinkled long lived hands
He holds the book of his soul
Where every word is written
With precision, passion and vision.

The worn-out crinkly papers
Store the wise thoughts and feelings
Which get a complement fillings.
In an every new place of wonder.

For him the adventure and life
Is the most captivating matter
To discover the goodness of people
And write the wise words of jewel.

I really did love you,
but you're a bookworm
and I was just another book you read

I really did love you,
but you have a sweet-tooth
and I was just another chocolate you ate

I really did love you,
but you love to play fire
and I was just another match you lit

I really did love you,
but you were a chain-smoker
and I was just another pack of cigarettes

                                               - Marclesza Gee

I breathe her in soft landscapes of airy music. To embrace her is to step into a castle made of blue fireworks. The scent of her neck sends me falling into the sea of lovely intoxicants. Her face is my favorite place to gaze at. She is the spectacle of any simple space.

The moments are lovely here as I approach her awaiting smile, glistening from just having said everything in blissful glances.