I could never finish writing off your name, with your strawberry scent vibrating towards mine and your hooded eyes that covers the wrinkles and your cheek dampens when you crook a smile, I could never stop writing you.
Maybe I was just drawing a thin line with heaven and a tightrope with my eyes close and hell bent towards the unending loophole of my forsaking fantasies, I guess I might stay here. There was something about you that I cannot forsake nor repaint with foreign colors and another texture — you were as a majestic being in my lucid dream.
That even though I cannot recount my fingers one or two or five or ten, I can picture the deepening hole of your dimples whenever you give the world another unbreathable cheeky beam and I sulk here, waiting for another neon glow of that majestic world in my dreamlike prophetic future.
Something told me it was you. As I bear witness another beauty in the realm of my alternative home, maybe then, peering at the sky while I was on a tightrope is worth every penny of sleep and drowsiness gulping another 90's wine.
Wrote this waaay too long ago. I just turned 21 this month. Still not fine, doing a little better, improving and growing.
lavender, lilac, and strawberry I taste energy like yours rarely make my cheeks redder than cherry you have an essence, it is a blessing you taught me lessons, such a blessing I thought I was unlovable you showed me the contrary make me sing like the giddy canary was too used to solitary read my feelings like a library
It was march At the farmers market Still kinda cold outside There were people selling their odds and ends And vendors selling fruit inside At the back of the lot Set an old taco truck That sold tacos for a dollar a pop I had 3 and a glass bottle coke And wondered if I should buy strawberries or not