My voice becomes a tender stream , a flowing passion a beautiful illusion of this future a figuring lurking the inner parts of my arms.
i want you bliss, an ignorance worth writing of, mend this broken heart, a broken mind, scratching on the surface of romance
yet i feel with these rolling eyes and the shade of time elapsing as i glance two his forefronts,his eyes.
My throat becomes violin strings and a melody, shrieking as my lashes slowly collapse on the bottom follicles of my eyes I see not a man but a singular overture.