...
If love tastes like
happy tears,
then you should
be December.
But rather than
all the merry and jingles,
you remind me of September.

‘Cause with you,
it’s a never ending fall
with a hope that
I sprout wings.
But you always
plucked my feathers
to adorn your hat
and hid me in your chest.

When I bared myself to you,
you laid your eyes
on my naked self
knowing it wasn’t the first
pair of eyes to do so,
but it was the first
for my soul.

And when my words
flew and became clouds,
you danced in the rain
not knowing that
the ghost of my tears
stained your favourite shirt
that she bought.

Maybe if
the ticket stubs
that my old diary
carried flew away,
you’ll see how
your heart beats for her,
and never for me
even for a day.
...
© lostforever