You bought me red roses,
But honey flowers wilt,
Love is a knife you can throw,
And catch it by the blade or the hilt.
I missed it all together,
But that's a good thing,
Because your love was as sharp as a knife,
Mine as soft as silk.
But knives rust,
And silks tear.
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YOU ARE READING
Crying Skies, Rain And Discarded Memories
Poetrymidnight silk flows from her head and a stormy sea lies in her eyes magic flows every time she speaks a crimson silence dancing across her lips