My world but a shudder. The place of my crime laden escapade. It blurs like the lines we crossed together. We recrossed those dark swirling waters upon bridges of need and want.
I hid my face within those loose curls. The gentle rubbing of flesh. Imperfect but insatiable. We wrestled the wraith within using the other as a surrogate. No smiles were allowed as we entangled further. Our demons danced a tango to the eclectic beats of two wounded hearts.
Your eyes defied me. But little else did. The taste haunts me. Fingerprints burnt into places I never knew of. My ears cling to ghosts of breaths that belong to another.
There was no glass slipper when the twelfth bell rang. Horse drawn were only empty emotions. The Gala ball held for no prince or maid. It was longing and regret in their finest wraps of secret shame.
Without passion the soul straves. Two weary souls part fulfilled by hollow moments. The fuzzy outline of where drawn in the nighttime of the past.
Written as part of a challenge called Photo Challenge, details are available at https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/11/08/photo-challenge-138/
Without passion the soul starves — so very, very, true.
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Yes it dies very quickly. And gets desperate so easily.
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All very true as well.
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