Mud
It's fascinating
Your eyes are,
so dark towards to retina.
as if there is something inside;
Hiding.
It's frightens me
your eyes do,
with ripples of blonde,
all along the edges;
enclosed by a ebony ring.
It's mysterious
your eyes watch,
always talking;
but never making a sound.
It's frustrating,
your lips are,
always still,
never soaring.
Never shouting or whispering,
sweet nothings,
sweet as butter.
It's disheartening,
your tongue is,
sour with every embrace,
but never stretching to say the word;
Never coming up for a breathe,
of your own salvation.
It's disappointing,
your love is,
always pressed against me;
pressuring and brooding,
deteriorating me from the inside.
Leaving me on the ground.
Covered in mud.
-W.D Paris
