You're soft and clean.
Nostalgia fills the throats of Cherubs,
The milk allows them that respite.
Hoarse valleys are no longer bare.
Wings, like lips, flutter upon landing.
Wings , like hands, stutter upon leaving.
Blonde hair holds the Sun in place,
A Sun made to reflect your stare.
Honey filled orifice bled into dry rock,
That was all the land needed,
As it missed feet it had never held,
And knew the paste of blood all too well.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
You're soft and clean.
Nostalgia fills the throats of Cherubs,
The milk allows them that respite.
Hoarse valleys are no longer bare.
Wings, like lips, flutter upon landing.
Wings , like hands, stutter upon leaving.
Blonde hair holds the Sun in place,
A Sun made to reflect your stare.
Honey filled orifice bled into dry rock,
That was all the land needed,
As it missed feet it had never held,
And knew the paste of blood all too well.
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