You're like a picture book - inside.
And outside - a grim painting.
Your eyes are clouds filled with sunshine. The rest of your face - cold and distant.
And of course, you'll never let me forget the red stain on your cheek - where a cruel hand tore out your joy. It is alarming how much you're bothered by it - and through this worry that red stigma becomes a vent - all your life seeps through. And when you hide it - the wound leaks much more too.
So let me place a kiss on your poor heart that crawled into your face after a turn in your mind - your poor sweet lovely heart that looks at me in shame through broken skin. Let me kiss away the sorrow that has stained it - let me kiss it back into its rightful place. For I want you to walk proudly with your face not blemished, not marked, but blessed by crimson birds.
But your poor lovely heart is mine so hide it, keep it in the safe of ribs that never break. Keep it away from prying glances. Should anyone see its beauty - they might just lure you away.
I love it still, so let me pluck out an eye or two to see it better through a kiss I place upon the lock that is your dashing-
Face.
YOU ARE READING
To you, I sing across the moon
PoetryOne day I sat down and spun a story to the stars above. Hoping they can keep a secret. But the moon, that traitor, turned around and told you everything I said. About you. And about this world. All my little idle thoughts grew roots and flesh. No...
