(no subject)
I sip at the tea in my cupped hands
And feel the warmpth spread down my
Aching limbs. With a sigh of- what?
Resingation? I learn to cope with the
Way that things will be. I press my
Heart down in the wodden press, slowly
Adding weight down on it. Will I make
Cider? Will my heart be tasty? My lips,
Still honey sweet from the tea, creep
Forwards to taste. Childish fears draw
Me back, just in case. I am letting them
Go, one at a time, shedding them off like
Shining silver scales. With clever, nimble
Fingers I tie my wrinsts behind my back
With twine that bites into my soft wrists.
I bind them back because I've become unstable
And those fingers long to intwine themselves
In his hair, in his skin. I slap them back
And they retreat into a corner like a
Scolded child. My double existance can
Be seen in the shining starts that I
Hide in the deep blue gray sea in my
Eyes. But they taste my heart, drinking
From overflowing wodden cups I have
Spent all year carving out for them.
The scales make a glittering trail behind
Me, shining golden in the light of
The newly emering spring sun. I turn
My face up to the light, and it shines
Glaringly off of my skin, pale and white
Of the last snow. It will melt away my
Scales, the cold exterior, and all will
Become warm, soft, and red. When all the
Lights are off, and thoughts of the world
Escape me, buzzing away to their Gossip
Hive, he lightly unties my wrists, being
Careful not to scratch my delicate white
Skin. He smiles like a young boy and proffers
A cup- wodden and poorly made- full of
My heart. I look into his eyes over the
Rim as I drink deep, letting him see
The stars hidden under the tides. When
He kisses me I can taste my heart on his lips.
And feel the warmpth spread down my
Aching limbs. With a sigh of- what?
Resingation? I learn to cope with the
Way that things will be. I press my
Heart down in the wodden press, slowly
Adding weight down on it. Will I make
Cider? Will my heart be tasty? My lips,
Still honey sweet from the tea, creep
Forwards to taste. Childish fears draw
Me back, just in case. I am letting them
Go, one at a time, shedding them off like
Shining silver scales. With clever, nimble
Fingers I tie my wrinsts behind my back
With twine that bites into my soft wrists.
I bind them back because I've become unstable
And those fingers long to intwine themselves
In his hair, in his skin. I slap them back
And they retreat into a corner like a
Scolded child. My double existance can
Be seen in the shining starts that I
Hide in the deep blue gray sea in my
Eyes. But they taste my heart, drinking
From overflowing wodden cups I have
Spent all year carving out for them.
The scales make a glittering trail behind
Me, shining golden in the light of
The newly emering spring sun. I turn
My face up to the light, and it shines
Glaringly off of my skin, pale and white
Of the last snow. It will melt away my
Scales, the cold exterior, and all will
Become warm, soft, and red. When all the
Lights are off, and thoughts of the world
Escape me, buzzing away to their Gossip
Hive, he lightly unties my wrists, being
Careful not to scratch my delicate white
Skin. He smiles like a young boy and proffers
A cup- wodden and poorly made- full of
My heart. I look into his eyes over the
Rim as I drink deep, letting him see
The stars hidden under the tides. When
He kisses me I can taste my heart on his lips.