Fresh Material, Work in Progress, Open to suggestions. |
A crest of snowflakes graces your crown, that deep chestnut brown, luscious and meticulously placed, save for the one loch betraying, cheekily hanging, swaying above your forehead, concealing fading lines of dread as you catch your breath, a slow rise and fall of your chest. Your crown of melting snow, trickles of water begin to flow, one droplet caresses your temple, unfelt, you're distracted by thoughts unknown. Treating your connections as the fleeting seasons, seeing various kinds of precipitation, meeting someone new fills you with elation. Feeling elevated, you remember your last fall, the trepidation of your heart breaking, brings you back down for fear of elimination, your chest now only a fraction of what it used to be. The love and loss it's seen, hopeful to meet those who can expand its quarters, replace its broken brick and mortar with impenetrable walls, a single gate withdrawn allowing in only those who call you to the version of yourself you can't help but pursue. Connections, old or new, constantly redefining who you are and what you represent, your time precious, carefully spent. It's not yet apparent What you are to me, We are still feeling it out, Enjoying each other's company. Unsure of the perceptions of society, we agree to be discreet. Don't let them see our intimacy, Keep our connection underground. You're unsure how I feel having to sneak Expecting me to seek an out, I haven't, because I like how it is right now. Surprising to you, I'm still around. |