They are a stranger.
Their hair falls in waves
Crashing against the shore
Of their forehead.
Their eyes smolder,
With a heat that keeps
Warmth seeping into your soul.
Their skin is canvas,
Painted with rusty dots
Highlighted by dusty skylights.
Their lips are a crescent moon,
Curving upwards
in a soft smile.
They are an essence
of beauty and
imperfection personified.
They are a stranger.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
They are a stranger.
Their hair falls in waves
Crashing against the shore
Of their forehead.
Their eyes smolder,
With a heat that keeps
Warmth seeping into your soul.
Their skin is canvas,
Painted with rusty dots
Highlighted by dusty skylights.
Their lips are a crescent moon,
Curving upwards
in a soft smile.
They are an essence
of beauty and
imperfection personified.
They are a stranger.
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