It's true that
Her smile is a masterpiece of
nature.
But it was never the smile
or the way she might dangle
a pen in her mouth
or her dark angling eyes
that compressed my heart
and pounded blood through
the sides of my neck
Poor soul
crushed to an ash
smitten, flushed
with a crimson glow
She crept into every pore.
He shifted past
yellow angels
enamored by the
rose lining of
her heart
and sped into the crash
of a love only imagined
But it's all too real
what she feels
when the swells rise inside
and the sky fills with thier dreams
as I sit watching with burning eyes
Love has again
cruelly passed by
and what's left are the screams
from the cold hollows of a
tortured soul as the dull blade
twists deeper through a punctured heart .
.
