"
THEY SAY EYES ARE WINDOWS TO THE SOUL BUT YOU DISAGREE YOU THINK IT'S THE LIPS THAT HOLD SO MANY SECRETS; THE LIPS THAT QUIRK UP IN JOY STRETCHED TO THEIR LIMIT GOING ON FOR MILES SEEMING LIKE HELIUM BALLOONS STRAINING AGAINST STRING AND WHEN IT'S FORCED, YOU CAN SEE THE CORNERS ALMOST SET FLAT, NEARLY GIVING UP ON FIGHTING THE MASS OF THE DARK ANCHORS WEIGHING ON HER LIPS AND THE TIMES THEY DON'T HESITATE TO SHOW DISPLEASURE SOFT FLESH CURVED LOW IMITATING THE FROWN CREASING HER FOREHEAD UNLIKABLE LIKE DIRTY LAUNDRY FOLDED AND WRINKLED AND THROWN A HUNDRED TIMES OVER AND YOU WANT TO KISS IT OFF HER AND OH GOD, HER KISS: THE OPPOSITE OF A BLACK HOLE A FLOOD NOT HOLDING BACK. AND IT ACHES. OH IT ACHES TO FEEL IT FLOWING INTO YOU BURNING YOUR INSIDES LIKE THE WATER OF THE PHLEGETHON; BLAZING AND SHARP BUT WARM AND CURIOUS, A HEALING REMEDY AS BITTERSWEET AND PAINFUL AS THE THAWING OF YOUR HANDS AFTER-FROST, SPREADING HEAT TO YOUR SURFACE NERVES AND YOU THINK THAT IF ALL THE PASSION WAS PUT IN WORDS YOU WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO STOP LISTENING TRYING TO SEEK THE SECRET BEHIND HER LIPS.
"
– HER EYES WERE EMPTY BUT GOD, YOU WOULD YEARN FOR HER LIPS FOREVER
[tas wrote this in the morning in class when she was bored and well, there isn't really much she can say about this really.]
YOU ARE READING
qasa'id
Poetrya collection of anthologies written in times of grief, boredom or need for attention. © ray ling [jupitired] all rights reserved
