As the seasons changed like lanes on the highway of 2013
in the colours racing By the side of the road
you caught my eye, holding drumsticks and a little cardboard
sign with the destination:
Home.
Wanna ride? Hop in. You're not alone.
If our first date is imprinted upon my memory-
our first kiss is carved into my bones
and as we tickled, and grabbed, and sighed rummaging through our pieces begging two to align- there was poetry in trading your broken heartbeats with mine. And as we arranged them upon that little cardboard sign we found that if we held them quite firmly, we could make one whole heart- breathing carefully on it to make the fire start and we vowed.
We vowed that one heart would beat for us both, if we held on tight,
and the vow made that day for a while felt alright.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
As the seasons changed like lanes on the highway of 2013
in the colours racing By the side of the road
you caught my eye, holding drumsticks and a little cardboard
sign with the destination:
Home.
Wanna ride? Hop in. You're not alone.
If our first date is imprinted upon my memory-
our first kiss is carved into my bones
and as we tickled, and grabbed, and sighed rummaging through our pieces begging two to align- there was poetry in trading your broken heartbeats with mine. And as we arranged them upon that little cardboard sign we found that if we held them quite firmly, we could make one whole heart- breathing carefully on it to make the fire start and we vowed.
We vowed that one heart would beat for us both, if we held on tight,
and the vow made that day for a while felt alright.
When your heart is shattered beyond recognition, write beat poetry?
