Every sundown, when the burnings rays of the sinking sun slowly kissed the ground and pulled every shadow out to giants.
Only then would you find them.
Miles deep in love,
Hidden away in the depths of Paris,
locked inside an old, dusty motell-room with slow, melodious jazz flowing from the old recordplayer one of them always carried.
In front of the wall-devouring window he sat contained in a square of the sun. The window framed by floor-length curtains playing with the slow shifting breezes, at times allowing you a quick glance of a tiny, caged in balcony with the city splayed out like a painting below them.
Up there, they were emperors and rules, gods, even.
He leaned against the bed behind him, his head tilted to the side in deep thought, or in deep love.
Not much of a difference to a god of nothing.
One strap from his suspenders had long since slid of his shoulder, tie messily loosened and every button ripped undone.
The other part of the duo laid spread out on the bed, one leg bent and the other stretched out to touch the infinite, gold-lined flakes of dust that danced and twirled and twisted in the air.
Her head rested on his shoulder and her tumbling waterfall of bronzed hair splayed over the edge into his lap.
Between them wandered a bottle of wine, red as the deepest of sorrows, slowly draining along with their hopeless dreams.
Eyelids weighting heavily down in the serene calm, lips lazily smiling, distant, dreamy, genuine.
A car honked from a world far away,
he reached a hand up to cup her cheek,
had to know that she was there,
that she was as real as his feelings.
Their hearts reaching out, thumping sweet melodies for the other to hear,
their silhouettes occupying more room than themselves.
The sundown painted the room in beautiful, ironically rich colours and the curtains stained gold.
When dark hits, they'll stay in this room with despair and heartache and passion falling from their lips.
When morning arrives, they'll kiss goodbye and leave their dreams and hearts and hopes by the door.
The world outside that motell-room holds no place for the two of them in love.
Their love was painted in Romeo and Juliet's colors,
forbidden for those who do not know.
YOU ARE READING
The lioness
PoetryDon't we all overthink once in a while? I just like to write everything down until I can get my head out of my ass and get to writing real, legit novels. (which I'm actually working on.. Kind of)
