I want him to think of smoke, and honey and early morning kisses when I'm not there.
Whether akin to my quiet singing voice, or that he knows me so well he sees this and the plume of feathers, ornate gold mirror frames, shadowed velvet, barefeet running, throwing him into walls lore of my locked up heart.
I am the kind that bites her lip and grins when she is singed.
and he'll be the kind with the paper-cut fingertips and culprit glare, ashtray nearby in his dark wooded mending, our blood running the same course. He'll hold the scoring key to my breast and testify to the galaxies between him and my thighs., seen through the locksmithery of my eyes.
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Behind the Veil of Leaves
- Phreedom
- I'm an artist, I'm just unknown by the rest of the planet. But one day, the world will recognise my initial, and smile. I only want to make peoples faces light up.
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