he shows me a place where i'd stay for too long.
it looks like a perfect house for abandoned souls.
his pale hands lean on the ancient marble surface, frightening the snowflakes and waking up the mesmerizing void as he lights out the poison i hate.
it's empty and cold — something i'm familiar with.
no harpies would find us here — their clawed paws shivers at the basilisk algidity.
you crave for playing when i ache for just laying down with you, noticing your face grimace silly at the touch of that snow. it's ridiculous you said touching me feels the same.
i don't mind for what if i never get to feel this again?
gede stares at the sky. he goes all silent, fixing his eyes on that star as if it means the universe to him. i wonder if i'm worth of a look like this.
i don't feel my body — it's now just ice keeps on melting under the sun that is his hazel eyes.
let me touch your ambrosial skin.
let me in.
i'll lock your taste in a cage that is my heart.
i'll keep it as a secret that's worth saving.
and when he says it out loud,
my walls are no longer built up.
YOU ARE READING
vintage melancholy
Poetryif we meet again, you'll be a different phase. a new person i no longer know at all; absquatulate!
