His honeyed voice
Flowed over me,
A gentle evening breeze
Soporific, the words
Entranced me into believing him,
True as death
He spoke,
‘I didn’t mean it,’ an angel
Concealing his devilish horns
His smooth lies ran over my head
Like cattle, running from a storm
Never to truly escape it
So soft and slick,
He rattled them off like
Song lyrics
The rose-tinted glasses
Were balanced precariously
On the tip of my nose
But still concealing
So very carefully
The truth:
Lies are hidden,
Waiting to pounce;
A wolf's fur lying in the wilds
Smooth as glass
I let out a sigh,
Lost in the tranquillity of him
About the Creator
Madi Haywood
Hi there! My name's Madi and I'm an aspiring author. I really enjoy reading modernised fairy tales, and retellings of classic stories, and I hope to write my own in the future. Fantasy stories are my go-to reads.
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress6 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
This is entered into the Smooth Poetry challenge. I hope you enjoy it!
So sad, and a great challenge entry!
Lovely