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Poetry

and no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016

Lilac

9 1 0

by -aesthete-

by -aesthete-

I am painfully aware of your head on my shoulder,
every nerve tingling.
I feel your leg on mine,
and honestly, I don't ever want you to go.

Maybe it's the sleepy air,
or the way you hum soft blues.
It's in your hair, your eyes,
the way you laugh and the way you look.

I take in every detail,
your eyelashes, your hair,
your legs, your collarbones,
the color of your skin.

You are soft and unsure angles,
nothing sharp enough to hurt me.
You are rounded curves,
both innocent and strong.

Comfortable silence,
brief touches no one notices.
Arms brushing,
your hands on my torso.

Skimming down my back know,
skirting down to my waist.
Tight spaces are my favorite,
because they allow me to be close to you.