Swoon, swindled, spindled, and spun.
Wisp of a hand,
to the possession of tongues.
With your lungs producing breath; methane gas.
Lips like matches,
with tendencies to strike,
engulfing us in a passionate blaze.
Bodies connected in the dark,
the silhouette of your euphoric body proved that ignorance was needed and illumination,
never needed.
Settle.
Intertwined in the repose,
Was the leaf to our stick.
Fathomed indentation
Tethered in our unspoken script
Heavy apparitions conjured from tight gasps.
Releasing 3 whispered words,
becomes our catalyst.
One embedded in your eyes
A riptide
of size to rise
the ties
in the endearing future of our lives
until we say our goodbyes
you'll shed this pain that cuts like knives.
Daydreaming of electric wires.
Tiptoeing on what
hangs lower than our fire.
Closed currents in the air
You continue the shock
as your fingers dance through my hair.
We're the flowers and petals,
withered into the passion we're plagued with.
Oh so crowded,
We're cursive
Characters tied in knots,
We can't be split.
Fearing the closure,
We mustn't ever be print...
...Fragmented, affluent, vacant, and split.
The script unraveled
Not cursive,
now print.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Swoon, swindled, spindled, and spun.
Wisp of a hand,
to the possession of tongues.
With your lungs producing breath; methane gas.
Lips like matches,
with tendencies to strike,
engulfing us in a passionate blaze.
Bodies connected in the dark,
the silhouette of your euphoric body proved that ignorance was needed and illumination,
never needed.
Settle.
Intertwined in the repose,
Was the leaf to our stick.
Fathomed indentation
Tethered in our unspoken script
Heavy apparitions conjured from tight gasps.
Releasing 3 whispered words,
becomes our catalyst.
One embedded in your eyes
A riptide
of size to rise
the ties
in the endearing future of our lives
until we say our goodbyes
you'll shed this pain that cuts like knives.
Daydreaming of electric wires.
Tiptoeing on what
hangs lower than our fire.
Closed currents in the air
You continue the shock
as your fingers dance through my hair.
We're the flowers and petals,
withered into the passion we're plagued with.
Oh so crowded,
We're cursive
Characters tied in knots,
We can't be split.
Fearing the closure,
We mustn't ever be print...
...Fragmented, affluent, vacant, and split.
The script unraveled
Not cursive,
now print.
This now hurts to read.
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