Eyes, spotless prisms of
Refracting light.
Hands, immovable columns
Of ageless stone.
Soul, a simmering hearth
Of softly beaming heaven.
I make you out to be,
Something so eternal.
I love you yet to be,
Anything less than enthralled.
Your novel florescence
Is never ending intrigue
For a washed out girl
Like me.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
Eyes, spotless prisms of
Refracting light.
Hands, immovable columns
Of ageless stone.
Soul, a simmering hearth
Of softly beaming heaven.
I make you out to be,
Something so eternal.
I love you yet to be,
Anything less than enthralled.
Your novel florescence
Is never ending intrigue
For a washed out girl
Like me.
