still was the eventide.
the pallid night-eye
hovers above the moonflower
and its scent---
sickly sweet.
at the street's end
lies her
decrepit house.
it had been months
since i saw her
sillouhette.
it rests there.
still.
abandoned.
but
not forgotten.
and in this hour,
where the ungodly
is just---
i am a stalker
craving for lust.
i've stared
at that window
for years
that my eyes
are starting
to bleed.
before i
close my eyes
and end the world
i saw a feint flicker
a form.
a new sillhouette.
and it thawed
this freezing soul.
and as i stared at her,
she stared back at me.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
still was the eventide.
the pallid night-eye
hovers above the moonflower
and its scent---
sickly sweet.
at the street's end
lies her
decrepit house.
it had been months
since i saw her
sillouhette.
it rests there.
still.
abandoned.
but
not forgotten.
and in this hour,
where the ungodly
is just---
i am a stalker
craving for lust.
i've stared
at that window
for years
that my eyes
are starting
to bleed.
before i
close my eyes
and end the world
i saw a feint flicker
a form.
a new sillhouette.
and it thawed
this freezing soul.
and as i stared at her,
she stared back at me.
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