Syrup

I'm not sure who this was written about, as I wrote it in March and just found it again. I guess I felt strongly about them though.

He speaks in poems,

a bittersweet syrup

that tints everything in an ever-so-slight cherry flavor.

His touch on my waist

is akin to the sunset,

a golden hour

that one experiences

if they were meant to find it.

His hand on my face,

no matter how hard or soft,

will always send shivers down my spine

and make me admit my defeat.

Because with you,

my love,

I know I am safe.

The pain you give me,

the love you inflict upon me,

they are one in the same,

and I accept both gracefully.

Because I know

that without you,

my life would be meaningless;

small and insignificant

like the death

of an isolated poet

stricken with melancholy.

A poet who was locked away,

unable to love

or to be loved.

Reviews

[Alice Miller]

I am fully obsessed with this poem, this style of writing, this authorial voice, this idea of love and it's all so good that I need to lie down for a minute

[IanCJ]

This is honestly the best compliment I have ever received. I'm glad you liked it and thank you so much!! :D