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What is your name, sweet lady?
drips of river rain from your fingertips
fall upon my warm face
fragrance of potent blossoms sorrow
follow when you leave this place

Here to watch over me in sleep,
protectress of young girls' dreams
I felt you in the stories I tell my daughters
unborn and ever ascending
from some dark place of deep despair

Illusion proclaims you presence
night and day hold you in their hands
songs of warmth and water cold
alight upon your tongue like snow
from the stone faces of drowned angels

What is your name, sweet lady?
I burned to know since I saw your face

She speaks,
I am Ophelia,
the dream that you cannot escape
there's nothing like the shock of sudden cold
rushing through your blood
stealing your breath away
white flowers at my fingertips
light as feathers on the wind
rippling waves of soundless melodies
fill the spaces between body and world
Shadow Dragon Nov 17
Your fingertips planted trees on me.
You left a forrest
full of life.
But with no rain
there was no healthy leafs.
So the forrest crumbled.
And I cut the tress down
for I did not wish
to have a memory of you
on my body.
Yet, roots of the forrest
remained deep beneath my skin.
And I will now forever,
if I wish or not,
have memories of your fingerprints.
Lana Nov 2
Inhaling sharp jagged breaths
My world is crumbling apart through my fingertips
You have put me through so many tests
I just want to kiss your lips

And forget about the world around me
Hug you until I feel like I’m safe and floating
As we sit around in the trees
And try to forget what we’re smoking
I question wether heaven has gates
and if the Devil is their master.
If his fingertips has the power
to leave me out of paradise.
If he will turn me down
for what my mind has made me do.
Is there a reason they tell me to **** you
Was there a reason for this madness,
this chaos in my head.
I think there is but
will the Devil let me in?
baby suckles at her milky fingertips
sweet face of a new age smiling up at her
what wonders hide inside this tiny coffin?
death of the deathless,
seeds of fresh fire
sparks grow like flowers from lips
too small to speak
yet somehow she knows
child born of freedom and slavery,
you are her destiny,
you will set her free

growing to the beat of mother's heart,
swearing to yourself you never will depart
but lightning burning on a distant
battle ground
and when you look
it's nowhere to be found
light falls and you rise into the night
feeling all the stars that kiss your eyes
glowing deep within
body trembling with color and electricity,
gently it grows into a song
and you find that you can feel her
chanting inside of you again

woman walks outside to find
that everything is gone
and the world moves slowly,
all alone through the arms
of the endless, sparkling river
so she takes off all her clothes
and dances in the freedom
of a garden in the rain,
a garden of fire and singing stars
that burn so brightly that the night,
glowing like an unborn sun
in the **** of the wounded universe,
doesn't feel so dark anymore
Marianna Oct 1
Is it love or is it just him?

Is it his galaxy-blue eyes,
or his sweet rose-colored lips?
Is it his soft pale skin,
or is it maybe his warm fingertips?

Could it be his vibrant laugh,
or was it when he held my hand?
Is it maybe the way he loves to stare,
or could it just be the small talk we shared?

Maybe it's love. Maybe it's really just him.
am i falling in love?
Poetic T Aug 24
Beauty is braille
written in the fingertips.

Never reading a word upon you,
              as my palms were pages.


And you were every word on them.
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