A story is a motion of words
whispered many times,
each  syllable different for
                         those that hear it..

Pictures are emotions that linger
when others have passed
                                 into the distance.

Blemished puddles are collecting
within her reflection, they condense on
the walls of oxidized emotions.

Defective misgivings bathe within,
feeding on the algae of irregularities
that submerge beneath this glass figurine.

Unblemished words collect to swim on
the outside, perfection was bathing in smiles,
but inside she was drowning in insecurities.

Forewarnings were posted
on her eyelashes,

whipping weakness away.

She wanted a courter  that could
handle her, a cat of nine tails
lashing upon his
                             naked back.

We see a road but it never takes us
on the direction we travel upon.

The scenery is what makes the horizon
worthy of the distance to nowhere,

             but a road into our continued wandering.

Others swim upon the balloons of my mind,
a broken sea shell looking beneath a reflection.

We all exhale sunsets, innocence disguised beneath
locked within oneself, always within my gravity.

life is a stone lingering beneath little motions of
breath, motions of a separated moment.

Enclosed but burning brighter, if just for a day.
A shallow river hold more tears, blocked in innocence.

Her scent was ambrosia on his lips,
swimming within oceans
hearing the waters calling.

Waves gently lapped upon features.
As the ripples settled, he could taste
the essence of her, drowning in pleasure.

I abused my power of
                                  W.O.R.D.S

With syllables tightly woven  
of singular emotions. Tightly
rehearsed, like a play of characters
dividing her heart to where
she never expected it to go.

But words have a power to oppress
or release the binds that hold us back.
I versed my affections setting the shackles
to either release or hold us stronger than before
                                                                *"I love you,