Like notes on a piano,
Like songs, from the conch in her hand.
He was meant to be deciphered,
but she never did understand.
He was the wind that swayed her blind,
the scented air she longed to breathe.
Brushing past to tease her spirit,
as lips parted in release.
His eyes, they cried war,
hair desperately trying to hide,
Like a bullet encrusted, in silver sheets,
Like a flame that froze inside.
And she knew every knot in his body,
dreamy of them so many times,
and she bleeds tear less devoid of him,
as he stands cold at the end of the line.
Nude lips and mascara black,
no more life than the Kohl in her eyes,
deep curves and tangled hair,
she lay ugly in her disguise.
She danced as knives pierced through her feet,
She swore to die and turn to stone,
But even her dark spells and voodoo chants,
couldn't bring her dream boy home.
Waiting, gripping grilled windows,
calling, to the moon, rising in the east,
to deliver to her,her beautiful,
so there'd be purpose, to her being,
a beast.
Clutching her chest,hopes burn like fire,
as the sun dawns over the land,
she can hear him rise to her like the seas,
but its still only, the conch in her hands.
