It started about this time, not that I really recall. It was a night when the rain stung your face and bitterness reminded you that skin was penetrable. I still remember her face when I first glanced upon her. Her eyes, her lips. That dress.
As it slipped so seamlessly from her tender white skin, her true figure revealed itself. It was a night that seemed to never end, a comfort, a contrast. Whilst the bite of the wild around gave warning in ghostly whispers. You know the ones I mean?!
Haggard old women with heads wrapped in scarfs, they do love to tell. To plant fear deep within a youthful soul, they seem so innocent and fun but are really filled with dread and fear. That dark corner is never the same.
The siren I loved was not alone her phone would ring. My eyes would wander, they still do. She would catch me and grimace. Then laugh! When she kissed the other I desired my heart sung and sunk.
The darkness of this first evening was unsurpassed, a quite murmur was all that one could see. The dress that had shrouded her was strewn upon the floor. A dress size that matched her figure, tailored to an inch. Its size forever etched into my mind, though to recall is to fall amidst a confounded memory.
A knock on a child’s door a sign of innocence lost, the creak of light; cm’s wide. Those fables have know become lore, and law. Made solid in their appearance by the figure standing, pint in hand. A figure that plays with mind and soul, leaving one to fear.
But enough!? Back to my girls.
One in stripes, another in a hat. A sailors hat. I am lost in a maze of cobbled streets, a place where red lights stare upon you. No more are you walking in private. No more is the outside the voyeur. On looking in you have to think, really, would you? No love, no surprise, no sense of romance, or even sex. Just desperation, sadness.
The remoteness of this world is such that we are no longer on this planet. The planet that we are walking is forged of steel not bone. We live and love but do not hear the wind. The powers that be toil in putrid conversations and petty games. Kiss chase for grown ups!
When talking straight to this group of sirens not a word is removed that is not true. But like society we do not speak. Communication is cloistered, knowledge remitted. Please please where is the sense of urgency, can we not see beauty lost.
Honesty. Oh please! My girls talked of honesty before they uptd and left. Before was all serene, like an inky still sea. Where to know Miss, my beautiful girl, my saturn rose, my thorn.
It started about this time, not that I really recall. It was a night when the rain stung your face and bitterness reminded you that skin was penetrable. I still remember her face when I first glanced upon her. Her eyes, her lips. That dress.
As it slipped so seamlessly from her tender white skin, her true figure revealed itself. It was a night that seemed to never end, a comfort, a contrast. Whilst the bite of the wild around gave warning in ghostly whispers. You know the ones I mean?!
Haggard old women with heads wrapped in scarfs, they do love to tell. To plant fear deep within a youthful soul, they seem so innocent and fun but are really filled with dread and fear. That dark corner is never the same.
The siren I loved was not alone her phone would ring. My eyes would wander, they still do. She would catch me and grimace. Then laugh! When she kissed the other I desired my heart sung and sunk.
The darkness of this first evening was unsurpassed, a quite murmur was all that one could see. The dress that had shrouded her was strewn upon the floor. A dress size that matched her figure, tailored to an inch. Its size forever etched into my mind, though to recall is to fall amidst a confounded memory.
A knock on a child’s door a sign of innocence lost, the creak of light; cm’s wide. Those fables have know become lore, and law. Made solid in their appearance by the figure standing, pint in hand. A figure that plays with mind and soul, leaving one to fear.
But enough!? Back to my girls.
One in stripes, another in a hat. A sailors hat. I am lost in a maze of cobbled streets, a place where red lights stare upon you. No more are you walking in private. No more is the outside the voyeur. On looking in you have to think, really, would you? No love, no surprise, no sense of romance, or even sex. Just desperation, sadness.
The remoteness of this world is such that we are no longer on this planet. The planet that we are walking is forged of steel not bone. We live and love but do not hear the wind. The powers that be toil in putrid conversations and petty games. Kiss chase for grown ups!
When talking straight to this group of sirens not a word is removed that is not true. But like society we do not speak. Communication is cloistered, knowledge remitted. Please please where is the sense of urgency, can we not see beauty lost.
Honesty. Oh please! My girls talked of honesty before they uptd and left. Before was all serene, like an inky still sea. Where to know Miss, my beautiful girl, my saturn rose, my thorn.
