When you call me by my name, I do not anticipate it in a frenzied motion for you to treat it as a superior incantation.
Simply call me by what you want; be it that you need me to turn into the sweetest tinge of loveliness for you, or that you yearn for me to yearn as a commonplace friend with the softest mercies in her heart.
Whatever you entangle me with, not just from your fingers but your soul — I would never expect you to turn into something that you are not prepared to be for the prospect of our love.
And when I call you by your name, I will keep it tame and resonant, enough for you to delve into my arms with the uppermost care in your mind to empty the false divinities to the fullest.
YOU ARE READING
to my future love.
PoetryHave you ever felt the depths of your heart have its groundbreaking display to ever grace the world? It goes with the gentle zephyr to linger within every skip of the lonesome soul, every waltz of such faint fingertips, and every exaltation of sweet...
