November 30, 2010
By Emilie BRONZE, Cranford, New Jersey
Emilie BRONZE, Cranford, New Jersey
3 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Today you are you, that is truer than true, there will never be anyone youer than you" Dr. Suess

I stop short in the hall
Your eyes raindrops of the fat kind
Glistening with stars trapped within them twinkling your happiness
I catch my breath
As I look down at you, your chin resting on my bare stomach smiling
Your doe eyes a passage leading straight to your soul
Your love is naïve
Me but a child you but an infant in the board game called LIFE
But if this isn’t being in love then I never want to be because this
This is bliss
This is chocolate flowing in rivers of satin brushing against my body screaming to you
And there are your fingers caressing my skin like it is silk and you are a dressmaker
Take me
But please be gentle I can’t decipher my prudent minds wishes from my aching bodies desires
I want to scream and moan and I’m ready and we try
And its five and a half hours later and I know I promised
But I regret it
I ate the apple and was satisfied but I can’t handle the ostracism
Even when I’m ostracizing myself
I will be a white bride
And I’m sorry for teasing you on the playground but I’m not ready to jump off the high dive
I’m not sure I love you
But I crave the way you look at me like I’m not nobody
Every moment with you is another piece of cake and I will never be full because this is my favorite kind
Mint chocolate chip ice cream
Because it can’t decide what it wants to look like but it always tastes the same
I want us to be the taste
Because each tender kiss is a pearl on my neck, the line sending shivers over my whole body
The things you say and the way you say them have become as predictable as the weather
So long as I’m watching out for sun I know it will all be okay when you trap me in your arms which are
A cage
Locking me in, except I hold the key
Because it’s the same one that opens my heart
And there is no other match to these intertwining vines
Whose flowers blossom into the pin

And in conclusion of this field study with no scientific meaning
This short story with no pages
This song with no tune
One confession
I love you

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book