deep brown eyes glide over curves, rolls, edges,
while shaky hands pull back strands of glistening black yarn protecting her thoughts and ideas, allowing flowers to burst forth from her eyes the size of sunflowers,
and his shaky hands trace over unseen scars, the translucent ones only he can see as he eyes her heart and pulls out the broken chords,
only he can hear the mournful song that escapes her lips at night when she is alone by her windowsill, darkness encapsulating her, holding her, suffocating her.
he says he loves her,
but that which she believes is false, she knows not if she is to believe this too, despite the soft comforting feel of his bare shoulders to rest and stabilize,
she doubts him. he shakes in awe of her, in admiration of her,
but she has still to allow him to be a part of her too.