"lillia" poems
It was in december when they came for her
she had been coming home in her Volkswagen car
there was a flash of light on her windscreen
and then from the drivers seat she was gone
Why they took her I will never know
four years later she did make a show
her face was ashen and her dress was in tatters
and she was gibbering like a mad hatter
She told us she had been taken
told us to the highest heaven and deepest of hells
we looked up at the skies after that
after the unfortunate taking of Lillia Bell
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
Her name is Lillia, and I think
I love her. Her name is Lillia and
I think I love her and she smells like
caramelized marshmallows with Honey
Crisp apples.
Or was it Braeburn?
She smells like Anjou pears and one
day old rose petals (Scentimental, I think
they’re called). Her soul would put feathers
to shame with its lightness. When
she says my name I hear the crystal echo
of wolves among the cliffs, and the ******
of fluted champagne glasses swirling
merry contents. Her waist
is like an hourglass where time
melts away in a daring drip of
not-quite-a-solid-but-is-sand-a-liquid-no-it’s-not.
Her name is Lillia and I don’t quite
remember how I met her but it’s okay
because I’m here and she’s here and
the end justifies the means, right?
Her name is Lillia and I want her
to stay with me until all of the stars
in this starry night become hers. Her name
is Lillia, and I am too transfixed by her
hair swaying in the breeze to notice
that she has already walked
farther away than I could ever follow.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 6:04 PM UTC