Her hair rode bareback on the breeze and for a beautiful moment she was wild in front of me. Her blessed breath freezing in the morning light... Just a reminder of the glorious fires that burned within her. She struck down the hill at such furious speed that time stood still and me... well my breath died in my throat. For all that I knew she would never reciprocate, I could love this woman till I died... and if the elders spoke correctly, I'd still trace her steps even after. It was her thrill with the world and the passion with which she would touch every little thing. The great interest she would put into what, until she picked it up, seemed such mundane and average trinkets... but in her hands they turned to gold shimmering with a life all their own. It was the gentle breath of the world around you when she walked into a room, causing all hate to drown and all walls to topple. But it was also in the way she would leave... She was wild and free and to her love meant a prison. Her grateful footsteps in the night padding off to go play in the moon. Her scent on my pillow for what seemed an unnatural amount of time. The way my heart followed her out the door and down into that wooded hollow... and fell to her feet
YOU ARE READING
Floating
PoetryI've collected a lot of works I have made for me and thrown them into a mess of empathic poetry I have done for others.
