Hmn, self control is usually
a virtue of mine, but with
lashes as dark as tonight,
when your touch is ablaze,
I’d rather drift my
tongue across your fingertips
part lips for danger or perhaps
taste the salt on your shoulder.
Words of champagne.
Sometimes I drift a rose across my lips
just to remind myself of what your
kiss could never give me.
I coddle them, you know.
I raise them up to the standards
society said they couldn’t muster.
I whisper gentle lullabyes to them,
comb my fingers through their hair.
They say you’re supposed to
let them heal their broken wings
take a step back, and set them
Don’t get too involved.
But I love them too much,
the broken ones of this world.
So much so, that my heart nearly
at the thought of them loving me
I hate being seen as a conventionally
attractive female because one day I
know I won’t be.
don’t pretend it never happens,
you know it’s true.
A trade in for a new model?
A spouse that doesn’t touch me
I’m a woman.
My soul never mattered.
I’ll have no worth in
a few years so what’s the
What a gift it is when a soul
meets another of its kind.
You drink the same brandy and
speak the same unspoken rhyme.
I can look into your eyes and see all
your sepia scenes drift by.
From ventures across the sea to
hopes and dreams of untold worlds,
distant eras, and hidden lives.
I want to hear all of your old tales,
all of your burning lies.
I want the answers to all of my
questions and hopefully,
as my heart begins to beat again,
you want to yours, too.
I walked through that plain of uncertainty,
with roses dancing between my thighs
long lashes curling down towards my cheek.
I could drink every ounce of you like a
glass of merlot. I could pull my fingers
through your hair, tell you how much
I adore you.
Or I could just write it all down,
keep on walking, thinking, feeling.
Guess which one I chose?