Yup,
when left in the sun
they become warm like my lovers hands
and the light they reflect is as bright as his eyes.
Their vibrant color speaks to the sound of his voice
when he draws near and whispers in my ear.
The taste of his lips is just as sweet and soft as the flesh of the fruit.
but never will you hear them sing like he does.
At the turn of a week
They wither and shrink
when darkness consumes their complexion.
and that's when the fuzz starts to grow.
they rot and they stink
like a lost loves memory.
and as they fester
so does your regret from
never consuming them while they were younger
and untouched by the corruption of time.
and that is what sets them apart from him.
through time he gets wiser and the fruit of maturity blossoms
with the grace of his actions.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Yup,
when left in the sun
they become warm like my lovers hands
and the light they reflect is as bright as his eyes.
Their vibrant color speaks to the sound of his voice
when he draws near and whispers in my ear.
The taste of his lips is just as sweet and soft as the flesh of the fruit.
but never will you hear them sing like he does.
At the turn of a week
They wither and shrink
when darkness consumes their complexion.
and that's when the fuzz starts to grow.
they rot and they stink
like a lost loves memory.
and as they fester
so does your regret from
never consuming them while they were younger
and untouched by the corruption of time.
and that is what sets them apart from him.
through time he gets wiser and the fruit of maturity blossoms
with the grace of his actions.
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