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stations of the lost
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in with the newAnd when your finger tips dance through her crimson hair like blood off of a blade, when her nails scratch your back like a cat to it's post when at play, when your bodies connect like puzzle pieces, making an image of perfection, when your brain recycles the past and fumbles with rejection, when you trace her body with kisses from your lips, when your body crashes, like an ocean wave, into her hips, when you breathe in her special scent, when you can finally can say this is time well spent, know that some one is doing the same for me.in with the new
by ~aspalestarsbreak
sonnetThe beach, a blur of grey and white, so cold- A frigid wind digs deep into my coat. The roar of crashing waves is loud and bold; Across the sea, I see a struggling fisher's boat.sonnet
I, too, was a fisher on that summer day. And you were like an anchor on my line. You weighed me down with every word you'd say, but I made a promise to myself; I would be fine.
"There are other fish," my dad would say to me, But I did not see a point in looking. Though an experienced fisher I may be, you were the one who did the hooking.
You drew me in, but pull no more. &nbs
by ~aspalestarsbreak
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