maybe i forgot to eat,
but i know that i will never forget the details,
of all the people i meet,
maybe i won't know what every person's story entails,
but tell me your name,
and tell me how your favourite flower is folded so perfectly,
tell me how you've only ever taken the blame,
of lies spoken so imperfectly.
tell me how your mother held you,
or your father walked away,
and how the sky is your favourite shade of blue,
and that it's your favourite part of the day.
repeat to me how you love,
with such power,
like a dove,
flying over a flower.
your language is like smooth rain on cold concrete,
and i'm not sure what that says about you,
but i hope in my words so discrete,
you recognise what i'm writing in this shoe.
YOU ARE READING
Kalopsia.
PoetryKalopsia • Noun ; The state in which everyone and everything looks beautiful. ✧一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 一一 and here the words will bleed onto the page of each separate chapter in my mind, and the words will fall so effortlessly out of my eyes. 一 一一 一一...
