Nine entities were born from the seafoam sitting atop the vanilla latte on the table.
Everything outside was the same dull color, but inside, the lovers were dancing.
There was no music, but the sounds of marbles rolling off the roof gave them a rhythm to sway to.
They were a pretty little flame in the rubble, cerebral cortexes made of noting more than vanilla pudding.
It's nothing else.
It is only this.
He whispers something slightly perverted in her ear and she smacks him lightly upside the head, laughing like a church bell.
He rests his chin on her head.
It is only this.
People will name their children after this event, hoping they'll live out the same prophecy and swim in the pool of butterflies like they always wanted to.
She closes her eyes in his arms.
It is only this.
YOU ARE READING
the space above my ears.
Poesíafreestyle poetry/prose absolutely feel free to comment and vote! i love hearing what other people have to say/interpret; let me know if i should keep uploading.
