Clothes: to compose
The furtive, lone
Pillar of bone
To some repose.

To let hands shirk
Utterance behind
A pocket's blind
Deceptive smirk.

To mask, belie
The undue haste
Of breast for breast
Or thigh for thigh.

To screen, conserve
The pose, when death
Half strips the sheath
And leaves the nerve.

To edit, glose
Lyric desire
And slake its fire
In polished prose.

The flower
In the
dry land
stopped waiting
for rain.

- { E.I }

she's outspoken
yet she shies away
she's blunt
yet she's some kind of fake
i wonder how vague this girl can get
i just don't understand her

i like the smell of aftershave
but i'm not very fond of the hair stubbles that poke me
i like the smell of coffee
but i'm not very fond of drinking it