she wrote about apocalyptic sunsets and tipsy gulls sipping on the tranquil waters- idyllic ambiance, 2002 on full-volume with ripped-denim and tangled curls. the city lights that lit up brittle skies- brighter than the milksop stars and pretend constellations.
she wrote about the slumbering souls during the obscurity of zero o'clock and the eyes that welcome the misconceived stars and the peculiar constellations shooting seventeen letters of agony forbidden to shine through.
she wrote about the fragmented souls waiting on windowsills - through heavy eyelids and hopeful tears for falling stars- a momentary friend to lift the vandalized worlds off of their ruptured collarbones- she wrote about the stars that carried the broken souls to a bed of soft linen and shed-feathers where they shall be un-broken and relentless.
and she wrote about him- his warmth like heaven on rock-bottom and his heart-shaped smiles that bloomed gardens of oleanders in her desolated chest.
then she wrote about slow-dancing through the gardens in blind-folds and how the stems had tethered her heart- poisoning her cotton candies and the passion that glowed bright amidst the ocean of bruises and wounds- where she collapsed against the waves of his feigned love.
she wrote about him and his love for daisies- then she wrote about her and her love for him.
YOU ARE READING
guava achings ✓
Poetrybanquets of succulent peaches in tin cans and pretty boys with passionflowers blossoming from their cuticles.
