If his eyes were stars she would wish upon them.
Perhaps then, he would look to her the same way.
If his breath were a poet she would hang upon it’s every expression.
Wishing for a day where her remarks would take his breath away.
She drinks in his breath, as if it would give life to her dull bones.
If he could tell her how she made his life light up like a Christmas candle.
She would blush at every line.
Her lips puckered with ****** request.
It was the most innocent of caresses. She held onto ignorance
with no wish of letting go.
Because when she’s with him, the voices don’t cry so loudly
she could write ten thousand poems about his gentle eyes.
Describing every part of it she would sweep with her damp burnt, licked lips.
Drawn into a line to stop the flow of words she wishes to whisper.
So she doesn’t open her dark bat filled mouth to his spring filled questions.
In the obscurity, she imagines his soft hand next to hers.
She sings a lullaby into his ears, and he wishes he could kiss her.
And she wishes he could too.
As of now, she’ll cry out to the voices to hush themselves.
And the dusk to enlighten her,
She cannot see the light at the end of tunnel; this façade is blocking the way.
All she knows is that she needs him closer.
If he could tell her a thousand times that the sun shone down from the heavens and through her expression.
She would glance down at the floor and hear.
He’s lying. ҉