I want his hands to trace the etching beneath
The layered oil pigments of my skin.
To feel his breath against the spine of my canvas
His lips pressed against his own hand
In fear of ruining my intricate image.
There is always hidden frustration
Between subject and author
But I strive to be as honest
As innocent as he lets me to be.
YOU ARE READING
a little about love
Poetry"When he smiles, does it feel like your cheeks seem to have a mind of their own?" This is a personal collection of short poems about love and its up's and down's. Enjoy different perspectives of falling in love, including honest narrations from a c...
