romantic poetry / halsey

1.0

You could swim in his skin. Pale and translucent with the veins and capillaries overlaying like an intricate highway system, sending blood express to his brain and his belt. Milky white flesh soft and sweet as cream. You could live in his alabaster arms, marbleized in the chill of the night. You could sip from his porcelain waist and his hip bones like mountain peaks stretched like glaciers to the sun. Begging to be kissed. His harpsichord ribs leapt through his skin, and his smokestack looked as if it would buckle under the weight of my body. Piano key teeth. Arms like the talcum powdered bow of a violin, and how he played my (heart) strings. I lived to be a symphony beneath the orchestra of his anatomy. He looked cold to the touch but he was white hot. And when his grasp left my face to roam elsewhere, my cheeks burned. As if my skin were angry and aching for him to return.
I am angry and aching for him to return.