Her P.O.V
The door clicked shut after me.
My heart pacing, it's strings
unearthed, patiently fixed; my mind
racing, brainstorming from up in the
clouds, vacillating I drifted, hesitating,
wondering if I should be gravitating
back to the Earth's core- It's fading,
quickly falling a p a r t
the wind is f a i n t i n g- but I'm not
moving. He's crumpling against the
hard-wood door, his fondness unfairly
halted- abruptly terminated.
He demands my sentiments but I can't
give him much; the guilt is settled.
But his love- allow me to
breathe- I promptly blackout, it's
frustrating. He keeps full conviction
of my affection, thus the urging.
His touch inducts me to plead
innocense and play my role in this
game of traverses- but I'm not
complaining. Anything to come
would be alluring next to the painful
tantalizing of the days that could not
be rewinded. So I grant him to pull
and suck me in while my thoughts-
like my hair and my clothes- are still
disheveled.
I take my right hand to my mouth and
unconciously
bite the sleeve of his sweatshirt-
blueberries and dark red rosebuds
infiltrate in my skin, submerging me
in the waters of his scent.
Those eyes catch me from across
the room just like
a deer caught in the headlights.
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PuisiI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
