âmes en peine (lost souls)

~ We did not walk on Isle Saint Louise ~ The marble praised each lissome footstep as it acquainted with her angelic presence. The crystal doors dispersed revealing only his trail to inner sanctity… and narcissism ~ Neither did we have ice-cream at Berthillon ~ Once the irrefutable atrium had itself introduced dismay and confusion mystified her pitiable fascia The inside had never hailed nor comforted her yet the first light realized, not tears, but smiles ~ We did not dine at le domaine de lintillac ~ As time consumed her into new empty labyrinths exhilaration made rest upon her now dank cheeks A tranquil breeze had to impudently make her slumber so as to find her; and help her find her way back home ~ yet Paris burned holes in our hearts ~ Distraught and in contaminated ignorance, he had to speak He delicately positioned her in his hands and in his heart never to let go; only to let her go, like the soothe of wind [This, my love, is not your reality; it is my deathly sanctity.] -For Zoe_Jane

Sacred

I'm a developer. Ohhh poetry... yeah... poetry is awesome

More about me