Coated in the cloud of your cologne
your lips tattoo my skin, illustrating your love.
Delicacy touches my spine and my neck through your fingertips
before finally resting on my face, holding me like I'm special,
as if I'm the only one in this galaxy worth holding, protecting, admiring.
Unspoken words fall from your gaze which I blink back,
our hearts in sync playing musical notes of adoration.

-thelostpoetjournals

Constellations on her face
I trace,
a sea of stars illuminate up above
with all their grace.

A glowing pearl her accessory;
the moon,
casting its beauty, glowing softly
upon the earth’s face.

An ombre of blue and black;
her aura
a serene atmosphere,
a silent lullaby for this place.

And me,
her admirer,
wrapped in her blanket of tranquillity
feeling safe in this warm embrace.

She walks up to me curiously,
Head-tilted; her innocent eyes stare into me.
Constellations on her face - I count one, two, three blinks followed by a grin.
A child sees herself for the first time.

Now she’s taller, her face a little broader
she looks into me;
a smile replaced by a frown, she pulls back
inspecting every line that marks her skin

then returns with paint which she brushes over her skin.
It marks her eyes, her lips; her cheeks
full of pink as she admires her work.

The paint never washes off, you see, it stains.
She returns to me regularly, rivers of ink running down her face,
her eyes clouded; the illusion of beauty hangs in the air.

Society’s product stands before me, reflections of her.

-thelostpoetjournals

They met on the equinox like spirits out of an ancient myth,
To paint the leaves gold and kiss the summer goodbye.
For a brief moment, everything did turn shiny and new, solid.

But Frost came, reminding that Nothing Gold Can Stay
And they grew brown and dry.
Winter went by,
Silent and haunting like a ghost:
White sheets thrown on a body made of fire to suffocate the flame.

They met again for a pink and a red moon,
In some mystical manner once more,
To break and wreak havoc
And divide.

The storm drowned Percy on the coasts of Italy, 'heart of hearts' written on the stone.
They sent his to Mary in England,
Its resting place a dusty drawer for years.

At least he didn't turn around to see her,
She didn't disappear.

Like a 21st century Snow White in her crystal casket,
You can find me in the frozen aisle, lying on a bed of ice cream tubs and chicken kievs,
Unconcious.

Slide the plexiglass door open,
Pick me up.
Do not worry if your freezer looks too small,
I can bend, I can fold.
You can consume me tonight, tomorrow, next week, six months from now and I won't expire.

It doesn't take too much to cook me,
Yet it shows you haven't done enough cooking in your life to know
That once meat is defrosted, you can't freeze it again and expect it to taste good.

The world is so beautiful,
Through eyes purified by love.
Who knew
That one person
Could wash away the brokenness of this cruel world.

Relieve me from this label,
I cannot belong in this cramped space
That you decide I fit in
I don't understand why anyone would want to be confined
To just one thing.
You tell me I'm this,
Not that.
But why can't I be both?
Or neither?
Why conform?
Why conform when I feel so free just being
Me.

Though light persists to reach my eyes, I hereby reject this harsh reality. For it is easier to renounce something you cannot percieve.