March 18, 2011


Ice cold fingers struggle to pen this. 

"I'll just type it," she whispers
and gazes into nothingness, deep in thought. 
She bites her lip and feels the heat
radiating from the keys to her palms

She sees him in her eyes
she feels his perfume
she smells his warmth
and hears nothing. 

It's been a while
She longs for it
He's only a mere memory
and haunts her still

Who is this Adonis
This Lochinvar
Who told him he could save her?
Who asked him to smile?

Watch as she melts in a puddle
Mop her up.
Sponge her. 
Let her soak you. 

Suck her dry. 
Just like you did before. 

With his perfect bones arched
and the many melodies he brought
She only but sang
and sings still too.