brooklyn, new york
is not just a place

brooklyn, new york
is sunshine caught in sandy blonde hair
it is the light dusting of eyelashes
it is a pair of deep, hypnotising blue irises
it is a warm smile and a pair of strong arms

brooklyn, new york
is morning kisses across the cheek
it is the smell of sweet syrup on pancakes
it is the sound of 70s music in the background
it is the taste of vanilla ice cream from a tub
it is the feeling of a smooth bubble bath against your skin
it is the view of earthy undertones wherever you turn

brooklyn, new york
is my lover's embrace.

It seems like a thing of the past
A dream far gone
Eyes closed with nothing to come
Smell of vanilla floats
Eyes still closed
But the dream wont come
Restless turns
Eyes open
Vanilla gone
Now there's red
But no rest

we bask in the moonlight
the stars dancing like fireflies
our cheeks lightly glazed
with the tender kiss of light rain
vanilla and lavender
flow through our senses
making me wonder
how I lived so lifeless
you turn to me
the grass singing melodically
'what is that beautiful scent?'
I take your hand, our fingers bent
and place them to my fragile chest
you feel the warmth of my blood
delicately flooding your touch
I say 'it's my heart'
your eyes widen, lips apart
I shift my weight, to lean over
and say this barely above a whisper
'my heart decided that a feeling so full'
'should also smell so divinely good'

I hate this part.

It's when I'm standing 6 feet away from you and not being able to do anything but wait, while here my abdomen couldn't even compromise, it keeps shouting its voices showing it all off that all I want is you.

It's when the others laid their hands on you while I do nothing but stare, yearn for my moment comes faster.

It's when you are looking beautiful, stand firmly and brightly on top of that circular-shaped object with pointed end, ugh I don't know that I want you that bad.

It's only been 5 minutes, 5 minutes of waiting in a queue for my love, my lovely vanilla ice cream with butterscotch sauce.
5 minutes of eternity.

I love when he threads
the tips of his fingers
in mine, drops his head,
leans into me, draped
over my shoulders

I love when his feet
lay on mine, hidden
under the table, yet
emitting energy in motion

I love when his lips
press shut, pursed to
hit, and fall on
my collarbones, finally
shocking the air from
my lungs

I love when my pen
scrawls over the page,
leaving the trails of
ink behind, depicting
                               us

The reek of bourbon vanilla lingering through the sappy tones
Of creased leaves and crooked horns, enveloping the royal grave
Embedded with stone, the coronated statue of vines and thorns
Twirling around the remaining cores

Rotten cells and dark floral gourd, an unstable mass crawling
Amongst the bare, rotten shores
The empty shells howl its name - the king
Of naught
Brought to death on the brink - in a whim

Clasping roots and grasping vines,
Luscious soot and dull amethyst,
The graveyard of which the warriors of Gaia
Patrolled in everlasting melancholy - the betrayal of the monarchy
In which they found pleasure in the guilt of misery
They atone for the death of the reign,
Raining in droplets of sulphur and rosebuds,
Meek of the pink of the roses, embroidering the newfound majesty

Alas, the journey of futility,
The thorns grasp its throat
The emperor has been coronated to cease once more.

today i wore a new perfume
with the warmth of vanilla
and a hint of lavender
i wonder, if i were to
hold you close to me,
would you find it comforting

or should i just tell you
where i got the perfume?