I am wrapped in soft silk
until long evening hours
when lights fall asleep
and I hear you
walking in from the corners
of my unfulfilled desires
my skin smells
of your old musk
from your fingertips
sheepishly approaching
to explore private zones
I feel the warmth
of your hands
when you part my midnight tresses
onto a barren back
I watch you slowly
spill a pint of lavender
on my slender nape
massaging every fixed nerve
until the broken agony
fades away
I fall into a moment
before you
and I find you
holding me harder
than before
your lips locking
with mine
I am left with no place
to go but you by my side
and how I wish to stay th
when lights dim upon
new born hearts
little wings snuggle onto
cushions of vivid dreams
they twinkle back
upon the canvas above
counting millions of glitters
scattered around
each one of them joining
into lunatic shapes
and whispers swirl
along a night's song
the melody of universe
corners wee lips softly
between chuckles tumbling
nonchalantly
tiny fingertips reach out
to grab a piece of stellar joy
from constellations infinite
and eyes roll in wonder
when they see fairy godmother
lifting her wand
to draw a silver magic
upon their cheeks and angels
dance until skies move deeper
inside a world so beautiful...
a world so beautiful
wher
To hurt a woman in love by Themoonofmyheart, literature
Literature
To hurt a woman in love
you step onto my heart
and crush under your pride
like it was last cigarette
that failed to give you the kick
during one of those winter mornings
where you look to survive in circles of smoke
echoing from your mouth
in bitter sweet whispers
my soul believed
and it floated through storms
coming from north west
only because it had to be of love
but my spirit has been corroded
under pyres of your insults
and your arrogance freezing my breath
until I could speak no more
my voice will be hidden in reflection
of my tears that will cease
in runes of a cold desert
and if the moon calls out for your name
you could watch me
in prayers falling
a room as cold as my young heart
has shrunken under grey shades
of sorrow, and hope now coming off
like chipped wallpaper
into a hollow space
of a silent confusion
floating between countless hours
as I stand still
on a little piece of wood
that has not been broken yet
staring at the only window
I have reluctantly left it open
for a promising sun
I was called
onto songs so sweet that
even berries of a wild spring
faded to cease
in taste that rolls upon
my only mimosa lips
refraining to open
for the trespassers who stood
with big bold signs
through every season
my arms dissipated a stream
of life whimpering
against weeds growing alongside
because I believed
giving away in truth brought
contentment
and all of me instead
swayed into
a bonfire
until I tried saving
every piece
of my testimony
so that I could live
at the little banks
of angel pools
forever
hidden beneath winter breeze
I am left being nothing
but a mist of love
sheepishly finding
to exist