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does it make a difference
if i say it's not about you?
but the strangest reaction;
after reading it three times over-
right before my eyes-
she kissed me.
was it the rhyme scheme?
i don't think it even rhymed.
perhaps my long handed scrawls
were simply illegible
and she just played along
i am nearly certain-
nay-
i am surely confident
that each and every word
was hanged on that page
as if it were condemned to a broken neck-
before the ink was even dry!
but in cowardice,
i closed my eyes-
and such a strange warmth was at once upon my lips.
it haunts me yet-
such warmth;
in response to the only scraps
of honest words
that i have let another set of wide eyes
fall against.
her face is not but recognized;
it has been torn and carved within
everything-
that is far to beautiful
to belong to me.
and perhaps those very words
rearranged and took a soft shape
that settled welcome
behind the cage of slender bones
encasing the stasis of her gentle pulse
before shortening the distance
between our lips
until
there was not space enough
for a single gasp of air
separating the warmth of
her breath
and my lack thereof
Wes Thompson
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Wes Thompson
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