She sent the lion on its way.

She loves the way his poetry flows
sounds she lost in touch and now create
etchy jargon crossed with self delinquance.
feelings swept under carpet,
shes here, heart clean
as she promised, locked away
in the perfect box

but touch,
touch. separated from
body she loves.

At amber eyes she cares to stare
for fiery ginger hair.
Playing with memories she fucks
clawing at frustration
not even the sea but land
thrust her in the wrong direction.

She needs to care
she needs to care
or else she might die.

So her hands flicker past each fingertip
and each heart she holds, she holds it close


His picture hidden in the perfect book.
praying that its pages will never grow apart.