Never a fan of holding hands
I keep my fingers sewn into pockets.
As leaves turn to snow,
my toes find themselves wrapped in wool
Ever the silent observer,
I watch your lips lock with the lip of a coffee mug
I hang a dream catcher from my ear
hoping to catch all of your nightmares,
so that they may stay forever silent.
I keep your heart in my sketchbook
My fingers press into temples,
You let out a breathe you didn't know you were holding.
On my tongue, your name.
You speak in hieroglyphs,
the dead language of pharaohs.
Your love shaped like owls
**** how I want to fly.
Let my eyes skim over the pages of novels
As you store jokes in your dimples.
****
I never want it to snow.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 4:40 PM UTC
Never a fan of holding hands
I keep my fingers sewn into pockets.
As leaves turn to snow,
my toes find themselves wrapped in wool
Ever the silent observer,
I watch your lips lock with the lip of a coffee mug
I hang a dream catcher from my ear
hoping to catch all of your nightmares,
so that they may stay forever silent.
I keep your heart in my sketchbook
My fingers press into temples,
You let out a breathe you didn't know you were holding.
On my tongue, your name.
You speak in hieroglyphs,
the dead language of pharaohs.
Your love shaped like owls
**** how I want to fly.
Let my eyes skim over the pages of novels
As you store jokes in your dimples.
****
I never want it to snow.
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