feathered eyelashes
on the wings of his eyelids
flutter as he blinks,
sheathing and unsheathing a lake,
deep and mysterious and beautiful and dark and fascinating.
his words spill out through a filter,
though when unchecked and free
are a mosaic
of spring blossoms
and arching colored light,
painting the most beautiful mural.
mountains and valleys
make up his geography.
and all i want to do is
travel and explore him,
reaching and feeling
with my own terrain.
the lava of his blood,
flowing through his veins
(like those found in tree leaves.
you see the variety of his beauty),
heating and warming
and scolding if spilled.
the beautiful night sky
is woven in his familiar skin,
and again i am lost in thought
admiring his face and body
because imperfections are stars
and must be treasured.
i picture him,
sometimes,
as more than a human.
as a collage
of the earth's
most beautiful attributes,
carefully chosen
and sewn together
into his being
and his body
and his mind.
he is my world.
YOU ARE READING
desolation
Poetrydes·o·la·tion ˌdesəˈlāSH(ə)n/ noun a state of complete emptiness or destruction. anguished misery or loneliness. just a book of my inner thoughts, feelings, and observations TRIGGER WARNING: may include eating disorders, self harm, alcoholism, suici...
