And so it is that
Your eyes are the most deceitful aspect of your body
They cut against the grain of my soul
When black skies fall unto you
My shoulder turns from stone to wool
Letting you breathe and wind your clocks
Content with the moments that follow even though
Your sent has turned from a pink to grey
And for all other senses, the same
Every time I think looking at your face is okay
My pupils dilate and the light brown sneaks away
You snuck in a blinding left hook and paralleled me to the ground
The blinding white spots will have to explain the sound
Now I’m roaming counter clockwise with a lost stranger
All our accomplishments stapled to a carousel of hatred
And lay def dumb and blind beneath your bed
All making more sense to Helen these days
Only watching your ankles as you awake and roam to sleep
These will have to do; these will eventually hang us out to dry
Try and die
Wincing another time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So looks really can kill, then? : -) I like your use of hyperbole here, Timmy. Come to think of it, I like the whole poem! Regards.