Falling Feathers: My Poetry Book

Jasmine Maya Peake

Your face is of harsh-cut marble beauty,
When you walk by, your claws do turn my head;
Yet all the feeling you inspire in me
Is a vague and unexplainable sense of dread.

You tell me, oft, how you would like to die,
Pushed in front of a moving Homebase van,
By a passing, straggle-bearded homeless guy -
But I could not stand to watch you crack, I can't.

I could not bear to lose those things I praise;
To lose the apples of my wand'ring eyes:
As though you boast bright smiles and legs for days
There's but one thing you hold I can't despise:

Those rippling biceps of yours, I can't deny,
Were hewn to make Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson cry.