Silhouette

I often think of the woman i love

Her hair is dark and beautiful, her eyes the colour of autumn . 

Her laugh is shy, but i know better, than to think she’s nervous. 

She speaks in confident whispers, with a voice that carries innocence into the world. 

She was beautiful… but dangerous.

she climbs to the tallest branches, dangling her feet over the edge.

She never stops to smell the roses: never stops long enough for me to see her smile.

And she moves too quickly for the light to catch her, with only her shadow left to see. 

She never lingers, or stops to say hello. 

she just dissapears when its time. 

She never stops to look both ways. Or to say goodbye.

It must be wretched, to look a corpse in the eyes.

But nothing is more tragic

than burying a silhouette.