Left-Handed Chronicles: 2 (Affection)

26 Jul

I am watching from my window sill fearing for my life.
Singing about my tired eyes, humming for my nose.

Watching and waiting, watching and waiting.

My garden is an eternity, a forever plastic spring. Softly hold my sweater babe, it’s chilly and I’m fickle, sweetie. And only touch my toes when I’m starving for it, but it’s always you and I alone know it. Heart!

Our simple mouths have always been awful at metaphor.
But our simple lips have never needed it.
But honey, sometimes I get so bored.

And I adorn my lips with it.
Sweet and sticky.
But syrup on me just feels so sickly.

Does it look it?

But now back to the cosmos….

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