her fair skin brightens even more when her perfect teeth are gleaming under the fake sun of her bedroom and that makes my skin prick in appreciation because never have I ever met with such a glorious, glorious personality.
pure as a sunflower soaked in acid, she stings my finger and doesn't soothe it with a kiss as hoped. but she's alawari, and emotions aren't her thing (she believes this but I don't)
sometimes i view her as the girl who's head is pinned to the ground, with scribbles and art surrounding her view.
although she doesn't see very far, her eyesight is keen as a blindsighted eagle.
listen, alawari isn't anything special; she's the girl that has a forehead that tans (the rest of her body doesn't). the one with the small hips that i really like to hold (she wants bigger hips to match her shoulders). she gets me laughing until my throat can suck in air no more.
she really isn't anything special: she's just the 12 on my midnight clock. the first of lover of my bruised soul. the queen atop the starry rooftops.
alawari is darn special, i want her to realize that.
YOU ARE READING
wordlings
Şiiri like words. so i write them. now you have to read them. cover by -daisukii
