Previous Version
This is a previous version of Starcrossed.
" hear me, " she whispers, with her arms twined around me, graceful as the moon.
she sounds like a love song, a whispered serenade. she sounds like the sigh of trees in summer, the gentle murmur of the ocean. she sounds like birdsong in the early morning, like the rustle of the day break.
she sounds beautiful.
" tell me i'm beautiful. " a choked breath.
she sounds like a tale of sorrow, as bittersweet as the falling leaves. she sounds like a muted breath, a quiet passing from minutes to years. she sounds like a broken woman, too old to be so young, too young to sound so old. she sounds like years of hurt and anger, years of loss and years of loneliness. she sounds like choked sobs and lungs straining to breathe, like tears hitting the pages of her favorite book, like shattered glass.
she sounds like suffering.
she puts her hands on my face and our lips meet. " look at me, " she whispers into me, " see me. "
she looks like a lost soul, looking for forgiveness, buried in the drifting snow. she looks like hope, but she's lost her faith in the world. she looks like desperation, struggling for another breath. she looks like ice, rigid and cold. she looks like steel, iron-willed, but unbending, and thus broken.
she looks winter.
she looks like the glint of cat eyes in the black and blue. she looks like the shimmer of dragonflies in the sunset. she looks like a raging flame, wild and terrible. she looks like a metaphor, effortlessly languid, with scared eyes. she looks like black nights by the midnight sea, like the roar of the wind and the taste of forbidden desires on the tongue.
she looks like passion.
she looks so beautiful in the firelight, and just the sad sight of her tightens my chest, so broken, but so beautiful.
she hears children's laughter, but it is a bitter stone cast into the empty pit of her frozen heart, because she doesn't want to hurt enough to feel.
she hears things that others don't" beautiful things and terrible things" things she wishes she could forget, things that lull her to sleep.
her eyes are pleading, her long fingers suddenly fumbling, fluttering nervously over my collarbone.
she feels like yearning, like a unrestrained child struggling to be free" dangerously alive. she feels like hope, the hope of impossible things" of what could be. she feels like redemption, like a second chance" forgiveness all the scars, for all the pain. she feels like soft nights and gentle caresses, and promises that can't be kept.
she feels like my last hope.
her head rests on my chest again. i can feel her heart beating, pounding, i can feel her arms around me,
she feels like bitterness, like too many years in too little time. she feels like a thousand different stories. she feels like a porcelain doll, broken in too many places to fix. she feels like she's holding herself together in the gasping breaths between silent screams. she feels like weariness, like brittle bones, and creaking joints, like she's already been through too much.
she breathes into me, whispers, " touch me. taste me. "
she tastes like sedated sorrow as bittersweet apologies tremble between her lips. she tastes like tears, like salt in the wound. she tastes like crippled beauty. she tastes like resentment, because she won't let herself forget. she tastes like bruises, more than aware of her own battered body. she tastes like another broken promise.
she tastes like pain.
but she tastes like the memory of morning, like black coffee and cinnamon. she tastes like fear and pleasure, like an escape. she tastes like possibilities, like wishes and hopes. she tastes like dreams, like a dream i won't wake up from, like a dream i don't want to wake up from. she tastes bittersweet, where the only bitter is the tears sliding down her cheeks and the sweet is all the softness of her. she tastes like secrets hidden in gentle curves. she tastes like freedom, like ecstasy"like exhilaration. she tastes like rapture in the heat of the night, as my heart pounds to the beat of her breaths.
and she tastes like victory, because she is finally mine.a
she hears things that others don't"
beautiful things and terrible things"
things she wishes she could forget,
things that lull her to sleep.
I love to hear a man describe a woman. You do it with such tenderness and insight. Personally, I could not find any fault with this write. Is there such a thing as too much emotion or description? I suppose for someone that avoids emotion it is too intense. As for me, I feel your words deeply.
she hears things that others don't"
beautiful things and terrible things"
things she wishes she could forget,
things that lull her to sleep.
I love to hear a man describe a woman. You do it with such tenderness and insight. Personally, I could not find any fault with this write. Is there such a thing as too much emotion or description? I suppose for someone that avoids emotion it is too intense. As for me, I feel your words deeply.
Hello, my name is William and I'm a write-aholic.
My first poem ever was written in January 2009, so I'm still pretty rough. Nothing is perfect, but I'm addicted to writing, and I do enjoy doing it.. more..
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