Seventh Sense
She loves him, and yetin the darkest pools of despair
she trembles fawnlike
in the glare of
Midnight expresses
hurtling, a thousand lights,
bursting into the
cavernous tunnel.
She feels trapped,
urgency snapping at her heels;
he desires to heal
and if there is a cure,
if surety is a manner
that calms and staves,
why won't the wild beast
that resides, cave in?
It is conscience fighting,
she knows in that perceived
sense she has and
smells danger, lurking;
how she craves a murky past,
the imp inside
smiles while she dips her tongue
to touch, just lightly at the
corner of her mouth.
She can taste it, foreign
yet familiar, the seventh sense
the one who knows.
She loves him but
in the splintered side of her
she flinches at such thoughts.
Possessions are easily broken
and untamable spirits choked
but oh, delicious temptation
causes such sensation
and she likes it,
surprises him with a glint,
he hits flint and lights a flare
and she'll stare, longing
yet never quite belonging.
Not two halves but each a whole
and wholely desiring each other.
Poetry by Elle
Read 661 times
Written on 2009-08-07 at 07:46
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