The Trouble With Assumptions
come when no words are spoken,
But plenty are implied.
The crash of her lips and
Her nicotine tongue
had me feeling five times sprung.
And I didn’t know it at the time,
but my feelings towards her were hanging
Loosely on an invisible line
And I’d have never known,
had her lips not met mine.
If anything, I knew the Ice Queen
Was trouble upon our first meeting.
Somewhere deep down, I knew
With all of the fire within me,
that she’d burn me to a fine dust,
Sprinkle me around until
I found some place to rest.
I didn’t know what to expect the first time
she grabbed my hand.
It was gratifying, electric,
like magnets, all over magnetic.
She toted me and joked with me,
indefinitely filled me with glee.
But she was distant and reserved,
and I hardly had the nerve
to try and pick apart her brain
and unravel her pretty thoughts.
I assumed that her head was a beautiful mess,
much like my own.
I assumed that she sought thrills from things
Much too dangerous for someone of her size,
and that she didn’t care either way -
she’d been through enough already.
Or so I liked to think.
See, I still don’t know the Ice Queen.
I know the gentle caress of her fingertips,
her breath, hot on my neck,
the curve of her lips and their cotton candy tinge.
I know the curves of her waist,
the arch of her spine,
the softness of her hair,
and the little sparkles in her eyes,
But I still do not know her.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
The Trouble With Assumptions
come when no words are spoken,
But plenty are implied.
The crash of her lips and
Her nicotine tongue
had me feeling five times sprung.
And I didn’t know it at the time,
but my feelings towards her were hanging
Loosely on an invisible line
And I’d have never known,
had her lips not met mine.
If anything, I knew the Ice Queen
Was trouble upon our first meeting.
Somewhere deep down, I knew
With all of the fire within me,
that she’d burn me to a fine dust,
Sprinkle me around until
I found some place to rest.
I didn’t know what to expect the first time
she grabbed my hand.
It was gratifying, electric,
like magnets, all over magnetic.
She toted me and joked with me,
indefinitely filled me with glee.
But she was distant and reserved,
and I hardly had the nerve
to try and pick apart her brain
and unravel her pretty thoughts.
I assumed that her head was a beautiful mess,
much like my own.
I assumed that she sought thrills from things
Much too dangerous for someone of her size,
and that she didn’t care either way -
she’d been through enough already.
Or so I liked to think.
See, I still don’t know the Ice Queen.
I know the gentle caress of her fingertips,
her breath, hot on my neck,
the curve of her lips and their cotton candy tinge.
I know the curves of her waist,
the arch of her spine,
the softness of her hair,
and the little sparkles in her eyes,
But I still do not know her.
written in april 2013; 3/3 of a series.
