“Trust me, please?”
she says, sprinkling in yearning with a fine hand.
He likes it mildly flavoured, not heavily spiced.
“I trust you implicitly”
he replies.
And she wonders why that hurts worse. Hints over words.
The heart, a little glass charm, strung up inside a body of dust.
It scratches, chips, it even crumbles but it never gets tougher.
This was written (like most of my poetry) a long time back…a lifetime ago when I was anonymous. I’m posting this today to celebrate my own decision to give up the last vestige of my anonymity. So for those of you, my dear readers, who don’t know me yet, my…
You’re beautiful. For reasons I can’t explainI find my gaze pulled in the direction of youQuite incomprehensibly,I can’t think of a single intelligent thing to sayWhen you turn and smile at meAnd wait for me to behave like a normal human and respondBut I can’t. I’m lost in the wonder…
