xlvi. WITH HESITATION, SHE TRIES.
she wants to be
rose water dripping through the spaces of your fingers, the very first and the very last stroke of artwork that you're proud of, a muse that sparks enough words within her eyes to write a million and one verses, scratches on old cd's and tangled vhs tapes, blurry photographs that hold more meaning than the bottled tears that sit still on the nightstand, wax melting into an abnormal shape, the scent that bursts from the candle itself, the five o'clock shadow that tickles her chin as he tucks his head into the crook of her neck, birthmarks in odd places, marble stares in subway stations, soft glares from across the table when feet accidentally collide with one another, more than just a name falling from voices of ex lovers, healed burns but broken bones, dried blood in the back of your throat, feather like tickles that conclude to the explosion of your laughter, your reason of happiness, the only one you look at and find your heart racing to, favorite song lyrics that a car of strangers sing along to not voluntarily but with instinct, light breezes in the spring, the ones that delicate flowers dance to, avalanches that cradle dead bodies softly to sleep, the sin left on your fingers after exiting bruised thighs, the knowing when you look over at her asleep in the morning, the band around saturn, the effortlessness behind the story on how pluto dances on your index finger, the stars that circle your dark eyes, the meaning behind shy i love you's, hearts tip toeing on rib cages that your soul mistakes too often for a jungle gym,
love, fear,
the wanting in the need of it all.
she,
it's all she desires to be.
YOU ARE READING
on this day.
Poetryxvii, april. (ii). these words speak louder than i ever will. © playlist poetry h.r. : #55
