The books scent lingers on her fingers
Lightly tying up her loose ends till they read
Like Shakespeare carved on a tree for all to see.
Her lover sips her coffee with an elegance only history
Understands;
She is the girl who leans across her rhymes and reasons
And bends her binding around her waist.
She is a woman whose strength
Pauses a book store into a silent stillness;
A muse that is written across my face
As she traces the pages of their story, closing the chapters
With the bite of a lip and a touch of a cheek.
Hers recite the poetry of rosebuds blooming in a far off place.
Still she knows that next season only memories may grow, but today
The taste of her lips remind her of those yet to be sown.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
The books scent lingers on her fingers
Lightly tying up her loose ends till they read
Like Shakespeare carved on a tree for all to see.
Her lover sips her coffee with an elegance only history
Understands;
She is the girl who leans across her rhymes and reasons
And bends her binding around her waist.
She is a woman whose strength
Pauses a book store into a silent stillness;
A muse that is written across my face
As she traces the pages of their story, closing the chapters
With the bite of a lip and a touch of a cheek.
Hers recite the poetry of rosebuds blooming in a far off place.
Still she knows that next season only memories may grow, but today
The taste of her lips remind her of those yet to be sown.
