You pulled me, like a string to a violin.
You soothed me, like music to the soul.
You healed me, like an antidote would a disease.
You fucked me, like a real man would a woman.
You kissed me, like death would a helpless soul.
With every breath I took, I inhaled you.
Your taste only lingered... Your touch became my drug.
Your face; the perfect picture, and no real artist would paint a finer one.
🌹
🌹
¶Isn't it just lovely meeting someone who makes you feel most alive? And such a person's world revolves around nothing but you. I hear it's a beautiful feeling though and I'd love to experience that¶
YOU ARE READING
'Silent' Clouds.
Poetry¶Words have no meaning, unless you make them, turning them into a spontaneous overflow of rhythm¶ ¶A string of broken pieces interwoven into into poetry. Broken symphonies, turned into poetry¶
