A short drabble
When the pretty boy just stands there,
unobseverant, unware,
her heart beats like fire and ice
her lips pulsing with his so near
yet so far and cold and pale
her skin, her bone ,her lips
twitch beneath her
her heart wanting to get out
to find him, to invite him in
but its obscure,
its complicated and terrifying
and nothing is like it seems.
ain't the phenomenology of love grand.
cheers,
Peter
thanks peter, and yes, yes it is
beth