The little lady holds a rose.
Thorns pierce her velvet skin,
as she sits by her window sill
all day waiting for him.
Her pastel shade turns lively pink
as blood seeps from her hand.
Her eye lids did not flicker once.
This pain, she could withstand.
Though, she had waited long enough
dressed in her formal gown.
The ticking clock said it was weeks
he’d been letting her down.
Yet, still, she could not move herself.
She thought it was a test.
In minutes, he’d be at her door
dressed in his formal best.
The little lady held a print
placed in a heart-shaped case.
She pressed the image to her lips
to kiss an empty space.
‘Á la folie… pas du tout’,
she cried out in despair
aimed at the empty photograph
but she knew he was there.
Oblivious to blinding truth,
firm reason fuelled her fire
to feel him and to breath him in;
insane with false desire.
Being your first follower wasn't enough for me, so I decided to be your first comment too! XD.
ReplyDeleteI liked this one, it's a fine example of your style - unique and romantic with a hint of French here and there.
If you're interested I would very much like to collaborate with you creatively on something. Something poetic, perhaps...:).