Trust is a delicate mistake,
That resides in the roofs of our
Mouths, or safely kept under
The mattress of our tongue,
Beside other valuables that shimmer
Beneath the veins of the organ.
So, when I look at you in keen observation,
Know that in my earnest quality,
I mean it.
As we lay in intimate quarters,
With our limbs interlocking one another,
When my kisses trail down your neck,
Like bewildered schoolchildren, placing
Crumbs in order to find their way back to
Grandmother's house,
It is my Ode to you, not to dismantle my
Dignity and shatter it, a lantern, the
Kindling flame insinuating devote passion.
You are my savior, do not punish me
For idealizing you.
Do not paddle me for making your
Mannerisms my ideology.
Do not reprimand me for putting you
Before my own idea, because you
Withstand the tests of fate, and you are
My treasure.
For I do not know how to insert self-love,
I cannot understand what it is to self-appreciate,
But I swear under oath, that you further
Elongate my smile and
further multiply the constellations
In my eyes every morning I wake up next
To you.
Therefore, I no longer need to fall pity for
My own wrongs or inequalities,
I lay longing on this cloud,
Waiting for my Angel to recover those
Same wandering feelings.
YOU ARE READING
Shuttle Bus 17: A Poetry Collection
PuisiPoetry from a discombobulated seventeen year old boy. From falling in love to hating parties to loving where you're from, I/you/he tries to truly understand life's prophecies through writing it all down.
