You wriggled your way into my wrists
to direct the wind of my pen tip
across the lines of paper I call my home.
And I would watch you
with grey eyes sunk of light
while you would swallow my words
and draw your fingertips along my waist
in harmony we stood like this for long
until you pushed yourself aching from my grasp,
my pen a dagger in your side
and here we stand
miles apart
with our words like worlds between us
and I have never felt safer before.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
You wriggled your way into my wrists
to direct the wind of my pen tip
across the lines of paper I call my home.
And I would watch you
with grey eyes sunk of light
while you would swallow my words
and draw your fingertips along my waist
in harmony we stood like this for long
until you pushed yourself aching from my grasp,
my pen a dagger in your side
and here we stand
miles apart
with our words like worlds between us
and I have never felt safer before.
Fresh works for 2013.
A fresh start.
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