A shade of burgundy embroidered their
Cheeks as their hands enveloped each other.
They felt the breaths of one another
As the Wordsmith's lips collided with the Poet's.
Only the veil that enclosed the tree
Where the apple fell from danced with the current.
It flowed like their movements, its existence ceased
To exist like the Wordsmith's laments.
Stifled were the sighs that escaped
From his lips while they were closed.
The fingers of the couple softly aberrated.
Their own streams of sweat that traced their bodies.
Lush were the caves he'd led the Wordsmith
With traces of lust along his love-stained gaze.
Panting from their ends made its way out
As it filled the room their body covered.
Avalanche came out not after them,
Yet they felt the coldness enveloped their bare bodies.
Not a tragedy, but an aftermath of their tryst
Was needed after their bodies were ablaze.
YOU ARE READING
The Ballads Of The Wordsmith For His Poet
PoetryExaltation given by the muses of this Poet's sublime. As this poet escape the asylum he's been trapped, he'd find glory into writing epics and ballads. As the wind chimes, a knock of desperation escapes his everlasting pain.
