He gave her his hand.
A promise and a warning.
Of a new life
(or perhaps a new end)
She took it,
Her hand delicate,
Like, the feather of a hatchling
Still dyed red.
Red of a promise.
"We'll start a new life
In a new city.
We'll travel this world
You and me"
Said he...
"We'll become one
Of the world's teeth.
We'll purge this world
And set people free"
Said she.
" We'll set the world on flames... "
Said he.
"...And burn right with it"
Said she.
YOU ARE READING
Lovers
PoetryTis' a wicked flower. That sucks life. Till its roots are withered. Love. They call it. When like meets like, The end of the world starts, Watering, Their little garden of skulls.
