You, with your feathered wings as brash as bark and your heart a soft big thing.
Me, body devoid of angles, my pointed soul sharp and hiding.
Peeking through your fingers, your polished smile for once cracked and bent,
A wrinkle as intruder on my stoic face, was all you needed then to be content.
Wild thing you were, running and leaping across continents,
Small thing I was, cautious and scared of every doubt in my intents.
If you detested my fragility as much you did the grey skies,
I in turn resented your contumacy as much I did my sinking eyes.
Limbs entwined we laughed amongst shards of glass shattering around us,
Until our bodies broke apart under the weight of our own distrust.
I waited for you like I wait for July,
And then I cried for you like I would for an innocent child.
When your eyes turned black as night I forced mine to hold no fear,
For the angel and the demon, there is no other quite as near.
Loading...