Her intentions are as clear as fog and her kiss as soft as stone.
Her words set the air on fire and her eyes pierce bleeding hearts.
Her hands hold no future and her feet have traveled no past.
Her hair covers my bloodshot stare and her frame never lasts.
Is she wounded or is she a witch, does she hurt or does she hit?
Is she vulnerable or is she a victimizer, does she cry or does she care less?
Her number has found my phone at ungodly hours, and my fingers have tasted her... sour.
Her address has always escaped me, and her best has tried to replace me.
Yet there are no buts, only simple worthwhile regrets.
Nothing half hearted, only heart stopping all-in bets.
Her intentions are as clear as fog, so I take caution haphazardly.
Her kiss is as soft as stone, so I cradle this kiss fearlessly.
Her hands hold no future, so in my hands I hold time for her.
Her feet have traveled no past, so my feet, this journey, they shall endure.
Her hair covers my bloodshot stare, so I bleed blindly.
Her frame never lasts, so I remember it fondly.
She is a wounded witch with no spell to save her.
She hurt while hitting back at this failed familiar.
She is a vulnerable victimizer of countless victimless crimes.
She is a careless crier when she hears tragic romantic rhymes.
Her number has found my phone at the darkest of my hours.
As I fight slay dragons and climb towers.
I've tasted her bittersweet sour fingertips.
Escaped with only seconds to spare.
Replaced hope with bottomless pits.
Leapt without wings, crashing without burdens to bear.
How could I forget that her words set the air on fire?
Only breathing in when death is the desire.
She is not my half-hearted pity bet.
But simply my worthwhile life-long regret.
