Day 4, and I'm knackered... it could be something to do with (a fresh new bout of) anaemia. Still, I'm well excited for trying out new ideas, although it's getting hard.
This poem is dedicated to three people- a beautiful (anonymous) strawberry-blond, a gorgeous pianist with the most awesome glasses who I will probably never speak to, and a young Portuguese man who doesn't speak English.
When I Met You
When I met you,
I was a girl on the floor,
While my hair spilled like ivy
I begged you for more.
I sought your protection
Your beautiful charm
I craved your soft talking
The gold in your crown
When I met you
You were a God at a piano
I could've lived in a world
Of your features, your silence
My conscious swelled up
I messed up all my notes
(I only got one song wrong
But it felt like the world).
When I met you.
When I met you
You were a boy on the bus
You snoozed on my shoulder
And I knew it was love.
Your face, my touch traced it
And I smoothed down your hat
But the miles between us
Won't listen to that.
This poem is dedicated to three people- a beautiful (anonymous) strawberry-blond, a gorgeous pianist with the most awesome glasses who I will probably never speak to, and a young Portuguese man who doesn't speak English.
When I Met You
When I met you,
I was a girl on the floor,
While my hair spilled like ivy
I begged you for more.
I sought your protection
Your beautiful charm
I craved your soft talking
The gold in your crown
When I met you
You were a God at a piano
I could've lived in a world
Of your features, your silence
My conscious swelled up
I messed up all my notes
(I only got one song wrong
But it felt like the world).
When I met you.
When I met you
You were a boy on the bus
You snoozed on my shoulder
And I knew it was love.
Your face, my touch traced it
And I smoothed down your hat
But the miles between us
Won't listen to that.
No comments:
Post a Comment