3 of 30
Pampering myself with the scent of the old ink,
The sound produced by the pen suddenly turns into a melody,
Letters collided and produced words,
Which indulged me as I turn them into metaphors
I started to define the curves of his lips,
How his tears flow down as he begins to bleed,
The way he laugh and make hearts skip a beat,
His anger and sorrow that turns up the heat
As I put the little details of him in each verses,
He began to learn how to use a pen and a paper,
Created a prose which contains lines,
Another being he is starting to define
A lady with long curly hair,
Fiery eyes which can easily tame,
Rosy cheeks and curvy lips,
He started to depict beauty― his poetry which isn't me
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 11:41 AM UTC
3 of 30
Pampering myself with the scent of the old ink,
The sound produced by the pen suddenly turns into a melody,
Letters collided and produced words,
Which indulged me as I turn them into metaphors
I started to define the curves of his lips,
How his tears flow down as he begins to bleed,
The way he laugh and make hearts skip a beat,
His anger and sorrow that turns up the heat
As I put the little details of him in each verses,
He began to learn how to use a pen and a paper,
Created a prose which contains lines,
Another being he is starting to define
A lady with long curly hair,
Fiery eyes which can easily tame,
Rosy cheeks and curvy lips,
He started to depict beauty― his poetry which isn't me
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